By grassy fields with poppies pinned
In silence bowed, with peace grown thin
With crosses 'neath a distant sky
That mark the place where honour died
Yet still we rest; and on the net
Words like guns grow loud and louder yet
We are the young; short years just past
We died, bled out, we choked on gas
Laid down our lives to let love live; yet now the lies
echo loud in forms and fields
Here, the quarrel is the foe
With seeds of seething hate we sew our death: be yours to cast aside.
If ye keep faith with those who died you shall not rest
'Till war itself can lie
'neath Flander's Fields
