The poppies in the garden, they all wear frocks of silk,
Some are purple, some are pink, and others white as milk.
Light, light, for dancing in, for dancing when the breeze
Plays a little two-step for the blossoms and the bees.
Fine, fine, for dancing in, all frilly at the hem,
Oh, when I watch the poppies dance I long to dance
like them!
The poppies in the garden have let their silk frocks fall
All about the border paths, but where are they at all?
Here a frill and there a flounce--a rag of silky red,
But not a poppy-girl is left--I think they've gone to bed.
Gone to bed and gone to sleep; a weary they must be,
For each has left her box of dreams upon the stem for me.
~Ffrida Wolfe~
