Poppies

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow: In Flanders fields.
John McCrae
Poppies
Sleep
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 among the guns below.
John McCrae
Larks
Poppies
Singing
Sky