Walking through the fields
Of frail poppies
Sown in sorrow
From broken
Promises
Fragments
Found
Soaked
In blood
Placed
In the ground
That we might walk
In fields of sorrows
And see the poppies in a different light.
Poppy Field
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Learning to love the silence 
‘fields of sorrow’ I used to live there, surrounded by them. Unbearably sad.
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It was the painting you posted which made me think of it.
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The poppy will always be associated with death now, and those fields will always be sorrowful places.
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