In fields where scarlet whispers grow,Amidst the gentle morning glow,The poppies dance with grace and ease,In harmony with the soft breeze.Beneath the sun’s warm, golden rays,They sway and sing in silent praise,Their fragile petals, bright and bold,Tell tales of love and stories untold.In twilight’s calm, they gently rest,With dreams of crimson upon their crest,Guardians of fields, both near and far,Guided by the evening star.Oh poppies, tender, wild, and free,Your beauty speaks in mystery,In every bloom, a world confined,A gentle muse for the wandering mind.