In fields where crimson petals sway,
The poppies whisper tales of old,
Their silken forms in soft display,
A dance of red, a sight to behold.

Beneath the sun’s warm golden rays,
They bloom in vibrant, scarlet hue,
Each flower a story, in its own ways,
A testament of life anew.

The gentle breeze, it weaves through,
Caressing each delicate bloom,
As nature paints a vivid view,
Of beauty that dispels all gloom.

And as the day gives way to night,
The poppies close their petals tight,
Dreaming of the morning light,
When they will once again take flight.