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ormondPoems
. We drove to the wild poppy fields, Lost and opened under felt sun, To picnic in solemn spent wonder And celebrate new founded love. Teapot rains came whispering in— The skies blue up a clouded mood And old mist rose in lighted eyes, To stark sheet of uncovered brood. We talked of one day, this day now, As we laid with the lovelorn flowers, A day for pictures, unmarked boxes, How droplets grew to cold showers. We broke down then and took leave, Of letted time in tiers now dead— There under cathedral glass of sun, Our cut love smoked in poppyhead. .
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Jun 15, 2019
Jun 15, 2019 at 3:10 PM UTC
Smoked in Poppyhead
. We drove to the wild poppy fields, Lost and opened under felt sun, To picnic in solemn spent wonder And celebrate new founded love. Teapot rains came whispering in— The skies blue up a clouded mood And old mist rose in lighted eyes, To stark sheet of uncovered brood. We talked of one day, this day now, As we laid with the lovelorn flowers, A day for pictures, unmarked boxes, How droplets grew to cold showers. We broke down then and took leave, Of letted time in tiers now dead— There under cathedral glass of sun, Our cut love smoked in poppyhead. .
Poppyhead: a raised ornament often in the form of a finial generally used on the tops of the upright ends of seats in Gothic churches.
#love#sorrow#beauty#loss#nature
ormond
Written by
ormond
Irish
Jun 15, 2019
Jun 15, 2019 at 3:10 PM UTC
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