Such odd flowers, writhing like stormy clouds until nectar glistens. Still, though spoilt we lie, shadowed and mangled beneath them, a beautiful color of petal they have: sunset and sunrise blushed with dew.

Our color!

But Mother Gaia, what flower drops its petals to kiss your sun? What flower won’t dance with your breezes? What flower shelters from your sweet rain? What flower shuns your kinky bees?

We poppies grok our Mother. How ephemeral her seasons. How ravishing her fury. How succulent her earth. How bittersweet her frost. How precious her love.

Look around you, odd flowers. Learn from us.