In Flanders Fields

I know this poem is for Rememberance Day, but I like it.

In Flanders fields the poppies grow,

Between the crosses row on row,

That mark our place and in the sky,

The larks still bravely singing, fly.

Scarse heard, old midst the guns below,

We are the dead, old midst ago,

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved,

But now we lie in Flanders fields.

~John McRae~