Remember

In Flanders Fields, the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row by row
That mark our place, and in the sky
The lark, still bravely singing, flies.
Scarce heard 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 your 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, though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields.