In Flander's Fields
The Poppies Blow
Between the Crosses
Row on Row
That Mark our place
and in the sky
the larks still bravely singing, fly.
Scarce heard amidst the guns below
we are the dead
short days ago
we lived watched dawn saw sunset glow
lived and were loved and now we lie
In Flanders' Fields
Take up our quarrel with the foe
to you with failing hands we throw
the torch be yours to hold it high
lest ye break faith with those who die
we shall not rest, though poppies blow
In Flander's Fields.
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