In Flanders fields

In Flander's 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.

They shall not grow old

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

A poppy is to remember

A poppy is to remember

A poppy is to remember

We wear a poppy

On Remembrance Day.

And at eleven

We stand and pray.

Wreaths are put

Upon a grave.

As we remember 

Our soldiers brave

Wear your poppy with pride

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 Flander's 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, tho poppies grow

In Flander's fields.

Liet. -Col. John McCrae