In
Flanders Fields
by
John McCrae, [1872-1918].
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.
Photos: C. Brown-Syed
For more information, see Granfield, Linda. Where Poppies Grow: a World War I Companion. Toronto: Stoddard Kids, 2001.