Flanders Fields,
Where dead men lie,
And mothers mourn,
And children cry.

Flanders Fields,
Where living men sigh,
Reading mates' names,
Their friend, an ally.

Flanders Fields,
Where land is dry,
In mid-summer,
Of early July.

Flanders Fields,
Where children spry,
Asking themselves,
They were gone, why?

Flanders Fields,
Where dead men lie,
And mothers mourn,
And children cry.