He walked across Flanders field. His type writer heavy in his has hands. The pain and memories filled his soul as the red poppies swayed around him.

She walked towards him, picking poppies for her village. Neither spoke as they looked at each other. She lost her love in the great war where he lost many friends. Embracing tightly she kissed him passionately, their clothes falling quickly.

Their lust-filled copulation lasted through the day. The sun setting bathed them in warm loving light. Lust turned to love. The pain slowly faded away.

“Merci, mon héros.” She sighed.

“Your welcome beautiful.”