In a field where whispers gently play,
Poppies bloom, a vibrant red array.
Their petals dance with the morning sun,
A silent chorus, where dreams are spun.

Beneath the sky, so vast and blue,
They sway to rhythms, old yet new.
Each flower tells a story of grace,
In the meadow’s heart, they find their place.

The wind carries their delicate song,
A melody where they all belong.
Through seasons’ change, they stand so bright,
Guardians of both day and night.

Oh, poppies in the gentle field,
To your beauty, hearts must yield.
In your presence, time stands still,
With every glance, a gentle thrill.