They are so bright,
a riot of rich and royal-hued reds
mixed so democratically
with purples and pinks and an occasional yellow.
They each lift their petalled faces
to catch the sun.
With them come gasps and delight,
and quiet, joyful benediction
upon the suddenness of their glory.
With them comes praise
for the grace of their difference.
We are all poppies,
riotous in the fields of this land.
We are all poppies,
sun-warmed and sweet,
a glorious gift of beauty
and difference.
a glorious gift of beauty
and difference.
