FIELD POPPIES

I went to pick some poppies for a vase

I have upon my windowsill. How brave,

How boldly orange standing in a haze

Of summer green they were: and each one of

Them tissue-paper delicate, yet dyed

So vividly they hurt the eye. I thought

Again of picking them, to droop and fade

Upon my windowsill. . . I stood in doubt

Among them, pondering their winter sleep,

(Themselves an opiate) to now appear

So evanescently ---though one could keep

A few pressed in a book--- in such a clear

Declaration of high summer. A dwalm

Came over me, a subtle, lulling veil

Of sleepy weight. . . the poppy field lay warm:

I stooped, and picked three for my windowsill. . .


~Stanley~
14th June 2003

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