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.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow في حقول الفلاندرز يزهر الخشخاش       Between the crosses, row on row, بين الصًّلبان المرصوفة صفّـاً صـفّاً،    That mark our place; and in the sky ذاك هو علامة مكاننا؛ وفي السَّماء    The larks, still bravely singing, fly ما تزال القبّرات، مترنِّمة دون وجل، تطير Scarce heard amid the guns below.