We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders 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 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.

I've commemorated Remembrance Day on and off on this blog, and although I've quoted parts of John McRae's poem—arguably one of the best known of all Canadian poems—I don't think I've just let it stand on its own. On this November 11, the first in 10 years on which Canada is not at war, it just seems fitting.