John McCrae, died 1918
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. 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.
More resources on page 986 of the text. Possible extra credit test score
Write a poem as if you were a soldier or a medic during World War I, living and working in the trenches. It must be at least 12 lines and actually be decent.