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
The  enjambment  from line two to line three (and also line three to four) creates a smooth flow. The rows of crosses mark the place of the graves, and this is matched by the larks in the sky