In Flander's fields the poppies blow
between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place, and in the sky
The Lark, still bravely signing "fly"
Scarce heard amid the guns below

We are the dead
Short days ago we lived
Felt dawn, saw sunsets glow
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie in Flander's fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you with failing hands we throw
The tourch, be yours to hold on high
For if you break faith with us who die
we shall not sleep
though poppies grow in Flander's fields

- McCrae

(And yes, I did it from Memory - so if I got the line breaks breaks or punctuation wrong, I applogize)