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
John McCrae
Dec. 8, 1915
This poem was written in the Spring of 1915 by a Canadian Medical Officer while he was posted in an advanced dressing station,( now called Essex Farm Cemetery), on the canal near Ypres…
