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.
Written by Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae (1872-1918) on this date . . . the 3rd day of May . . . in the year 1915 . . . after he witnessed the death of his friend, Lieutenant Alexis Helmer, only 22 years old, the day before.
