The Larks, Still Bravely Singing, Fly Scarce

Take Up Our Quarrel With The Foe: To You From Falling Hands We Throw.

In Flanders Fields The Poppies Blow.

The Larks, Still Bravely Singing, Fly Scarce Heard Amid The Guns Below

We Lived, Felt Dawn, Saw Sunset Glow, Loved And Were Loved, And Now We Lie In Flanders Fields.

Like Restless Birds, The Breath Of Coming Rain Creeps, Lilac-laden, Up The Village Street