Flanders Fields
To Flanders fields, the athletes go,
And crowds of autos, row on row.
They take our place; and in the sky
The airplanes still go roaring by.
Scarce heard are we Belgians, below.
We are the Flemish. Days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, but now we're stuck
On Flanders roads.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch Olympic - take it hence!
Lest we erect a barbed wire fence,
We shall not sleep, while athletes go
To Flanders fields.
-- with abject apologies to John McCrae