- 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.
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- 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.
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- 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.
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