Wednesday, July 17, 2019


The poppies distract me.
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.