In Flanders Fields
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment