In Flander's Fields In Flanders fields the poppies blowBetween the crosses, row on row,That mark our place; and in the skyThe larks still bravely singing, flyScarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days agoWe lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,Loved and were loved, and now we lieIn Flander's fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe:To you from failing hands we throwThe torch; be yours to hold it high.If ye break faith with us who dieWe shall not sleep, tho poppies growIn Flander's fields. Liet. -Col. John McCrae