The poppy opes her scarlet purse of dreams.
Poppies In The Rain.
In wind-tossed heaps the silken petals lie,
And dewy rain soaks every shimmering leaf,
A misty veil hangs gently from the sky,
As Summer softly chants her poignant grief;
The blackbird sings no longer from the tree,
And dripping stems shake sequins as they sway,
Sweet scent of rain-wet blossom drifts to me,
As twilight sends her shadows, pewter-grey.
O falling rain, like lambent arrows sped
To pierce each crinkled petal, palely strewn,
Pour comfort on each poppy's drooping head,
Send solace to these flowers that fall so soon!
—Phyllis I. Young.
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