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
Scare heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow.
Love and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

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 fields.

-John McCrae

My Reply

In Flanders Field, where all ye sleep
the torch ye threw in trenches deep,
was caught and lifted from the mud
but 'twas doused with soldier blood
where now another falls asleep
In Flanders fields.

And Oh the poppies, still they blow
Between the corpses, row on row.
We fought the cause, we won the war
And Freedom's light glows before
the fallen friend and fallen foe,
In Flanders fields.

And apologies for ye restless men
who've been awaken yet again
the torch was reborn by vengeful hands
the war goes on, though it began
where poppies blew, way back then
In Flanders fields.