Lest we forget.

In Flanders Field 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 away
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow.
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders 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 Flanders Field.
– By. Dr. John McCrae

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