In Flanders Fields The Poppies Blow.

Like Restless Birds, The Breath Of Coming Rain Creeps, Lilac-laden, Up The Village Street

Take Up Our Quarrel With The Foe: To You From Falling Hands We Throw.

We Lived, Felt Dawn, Saw Sunset Glow, Loved And Were Loved, And Now We Lie In Flanders Fields.

The Larks, Still Bravely Singing, Fly Scarce Heard Amid The Guns Below

In Flanders Fields The Poppies Blow.