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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.
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.
