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In Flander's Fields
By Lt. Col. John Alexander McCrae, Theta Xi, 1894
In Flander's Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The lark, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sun set glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
in Flander's Field
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 Flander's Fields