In flounders, fields of 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 clouds below. We are the day, In short days of old, We lived and cried, Saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, And now we lie In flounders, fields. Take a bow, Quarrel with the foe, To youth from failing hands, We throw the torch. He was to hold it high, If we break faith with those who die, We shall not sleep, Though poppies grow, In flounders, fields. © BF-WATCH TV 2021
