IN FLANDERS FIELDS

By John McCrae

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow  Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky  larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

 

We are the dead.  Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

loved, and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields

Lompoc Ca. Flower Flag