novemberence

in FLANDER'S fields the poppies grow
between the crosses row in row
that mark our place and in the sky
the larks stil bravely singing high
scarce heard
among the dead below

we are the dead
short days ago we lived
felt sunrise saw sunset glow
loved and were loved
and now we lie in FLANDER'S flield

take up our quarrel with our foe
to you the failing hands we throw
the torch
be yours
to hold it high
if ye shall break faith with us how die
we shall not rest
tho poppies blow
in FLANDER'S flields