In Flanders fields the poppies blow
- John McCraeMy arms have mutinied against me '” brutes!
- Wilfred OwenWas it for this the clay grew tall?
- Wilfred OwenMove him into the sun '”
- Wilfred OwenA few, a few, too few for drums and yells,
- Wilfred OwenShall Life renew these bodies? Of a truth
- Wilfred OwenNow rather thank I God there is no risk
- Wilfred Owen