In Flander’s Fields
In Flander’s fields, the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The 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 Flander’s 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 Flander’s fields.
(From Poet.org – in public domain, written by John McCrae 1918)
Visions of Transition 