In Flanders Fields, if you should go,
You'll see the gravestones, row on row
In fields of green and poppies red,
Rest all the boys that we once bred,
And as you stand and listen long,
Perhaps you'll hear, their voice in song
A lament for Flanders Fields.

In Flanders fields the soldiers rise
And gaze anew at troubled skies
So full of fear, that know once more
The echos of the cannons' roar,
The bombs and bullets that they shed,
And now with blood the ground is red,
In Flanders fields.

I stand erect on Flanders mud
The swaying poppies now in bud
A slab of stone, a lonely cross
So bright, so clean, but what a loss.
I sit as sediment on a land,
And gaze at schrapnel in my hand
Dug from Flanders Fields.