Poppy
Orange-red crêpe paper round
a cobweb duster on a stem
of grey-white hair, it stands
ablaze, aflame. Groaning
and tearing in the wind,
its skins hang in tatters,
you find shreds left over.
The seed is blown away
from within to help you
to another world, only to
return twice as profusely, to
set fire to verge and flowerbed
where as a shower of sparks cock-rose
family does her best
No comments:
Post a Comment