In Flanders fields the poppies blow br Between the crosses, row on row, br That mark our place; and in the sky br The larks, still bravely singing, fly br Scarce heard amid the guns below. br br We are the Dead. Short days ago br We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, br Loved and were loved, and now we lie, br In Flanders fields. br br Take up our quarrel with the foe: br To you from failing hands we throw br The torch; be yours to hold it high. br If ye break faith with us who die br We shall not sleep, though poppies grow br In Flanders fields.