In Flanders fields the poppies grow

Credit to @Subversivedingbat for prompts and stylistic guidance

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 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 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.

--Lt. Col. John McRae, 1915