Memorial Day Poppies

BY JOHN MCCRAE

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.

copied from the Poetry Foundation

by MOINA MICHAEL, November 1918

Oh! you who sleep in Flanders Fields,
 
 Sleep sweet - to rise anew!
 
 We caught the torch you threw
 
 And holding high, we keep the Faith
 
 With All who died.

We cherish, too, the poppy red
 
 That grows on fields where valor led;
 
 It seems to signal to the skies
 
 That blood of heroes never dies,
 
 But lends a lustre to the red
 
 Of the flower that blooms above the dead
 
 In Flanders Fields.

And now the Torch and Poppy Red
 
 We wear in honor of our dead.
 
 Fear not that ye have died for naught;
 
 We'll teach the lesson that ye wrought
 
 In Flanders Fields.

copied from greatwar.co.uk/poems