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 shall Keep the Faith Oh! You who sleep in Flanders’ fields, Sleep sweet - to rise anew; We caught the torch you threw; And holding high we kept The faith with those who died. We cherish, too, the Poppy red That grows on fields where valour led.