Poppies, poppies, red poppies, bitter memory of the earth. Do you dream of attacks, those who did not come from these fields?
So it is sung in one of the songs about the war.
I love the time when poppies blossom. They grow here everywhere: in the fields, along roads, in orchards and gardens.
It's such a beauty! Poppies adorn our land, make the spring unique. I love them very much!
Маки, маки, красные маки, горькая память земли. Неужели вам снятся атаки, тех, кто с этих полей не пришли?
Так поётся в одной из песен о войне.
Я обожаю время, когда цветут маки. Они у нас растут всюду: на полях, вдоль дорог, в огородах и садах.
Это такая красота! Маки украшают нашу землю, делают весну неповторимой. Я очень их люблю!
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