In Flanders 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 amid the guns below.

We are Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved, and were loved, and now we lie

  In Flanders fields.

Take up your quarrel with the foe;

  To you from falling hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

  In Flanders fields.

(Written by Lt. Col John McCrae)