IN FLANDERS FIELD.

In Flanders field The poppies blows

Between the crosses, row and row.

That mark our place, and in the sky.

The larks, still bravely singing fly.

We lived, field down.saw sunstet glow.

loved an were.Loved and now we lie..

In Flanders field.

Thake up from failing hands we throw.

The torch; be yours to hold it right.

If ye break, faight with us

who die.

We schall not sleep, tough poppies grow.

IN FLANDERS FIELD.

 

John Mc Grae. ( 1915 )