Poem — In Flanders Fields

Chris Reynolds/Los Angeles Times/Tribune News ServiceWreaths of paper poppies honor the dead of World War I at the Menin Gate in the Flemish city of Ypres, Belgium.

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 was written in 1915 by Lt. Col. John McCrae, a Canadian physician who served in World War I.

Johnson Newspapers 7.1

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