Poppies

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.