In Flanders Fields, not far from here (20 km) there was the great war 1914-18
For every soldier who died, there was a poppy blowing after the war.
Now you can visit the graveyards with thousands and thousands of graves, always some-one's child.
It always makes me silent.
my colour is redish orange for today
under here the poem of John Mc Crae
greetings, JOhan
http://www.pbase.com/johanops/image/98485732
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.