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 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, though poppies grow
In Flanders
fields
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