We have kept faith, ye Flanders' dead, Sleep well beneath those poppies red, That mark your place. The torch your dying hands did throw We 've held it high before the foe, And answered bitter blow for blow, In Flanders' fields. And where your heroes' blood was spilled The guns are now forever stilled And silent grown. There is no moaning of the slain, There is no cry of tortured pain, And blood will never flow again In Flanders' fields.…
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