In Flanders Fields the poppies grow between the crosses row on row that mark our place and in the sky the larks, still bravely singing, fly scarce herd amid the guns below we are the dead short days ago we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow loved and were loved and now we lie in Flanders Fields Take up our quarrel with the foe to you from failing hands we throw the torch be yours to hold it high if ye break faith with us who die, we shall not sleep