The Poppies by Richard Church
Like lips behind a veil
The poppies rest under the oats
Lips parting in sleep,
As though night were hot about them,
Touching the souls they speak for with sensual fires;
These lips not petals.
But here it is summer morning,
Cool after the pride-shower;
The smoke goes up in prayer from the village,
And the hills are monks stooping under a hood of mist.
This surely is a virgin moment.
Then what is this fantasy of the poppies?
Poem Attribution © Richard Church, The Poppies
Source Attribution Favourite Flower Poems, National Trust Books
Painting Attribution © Elena Starostina, Poppies, 2017
Source Attribution https://www.saatchiart.com/print/Painting-Poppy-flower/1399307/7005231/view
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