'Et hukw'ut 'is̲dak nulht̲s̲'i

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow

Tulalhgus whuniz whedelya 'et nehoold̲z̲un nehooni

Between crosses row on row that mark our places

'Ink'ez yat'ah gagiyaz 'awhuz hilhtus hujun

And in the sky the larks still bravely singing

Yuk 'ulhti huitut̲s̲o 'aw soocho dzoodzeltsia iloh

Scarce heard amid the guns below

T̲s̲'iyawh yats'azdla hulhda whut̲s̲o dzen dzooh ts'ukhuna

We are the dead; short days ago

T̲s̲'iyawh ts'ukhuna hool'en whezdutnih sa yuk tez̲'ai dilkwun ts'unilh'en

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow

'Uk'ets'int̲s̲ui 'ink'ez nek'ehint̲s̲ui 'et 'andit yunk'ut whuz̲'ai whuyuts'uz̲dla

Loved and were loved; and now we lie in Flanders Field

'Andit hubuts'uduyih hubulh nehudul'en

Take up our quarrel with the foe

Nyun nela owiltus 'i be dez̲k'un whets'uldoh 'i nehilhdzun 'et ts'oontwun

To you from failing hands we throw the torch; be yours to hold up high

'Et hubanowdolneh 'en bulh yahadla

If ye break faith with us who die

'Aw naznootes ndoh 'et hoonts'i 'is̲dak hukw'ut hanuyeh.

We shall not sleep though the poppies grow in Flanders fields.