|In Flanders Fields|
|by John McCrae|
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.
This poem is a rondeau, written by McCrae while a doctor in the trenches; he also died. Many Canadian soldiers volunteered for WWI after reading this. The poem was found in their pockets after they became casualites.