1. August 1914. Auf dem Weg zu Flanderns Feldern…

 

In Flan­ders Fields

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.

(John McCrae)