They stare at the happy migrants from the east
Swaying, playing, trying to match the sun's yellow
Exuding their purpose by dancing to musical breeze
People from all over came
To welcome them
To get high merely with the sight of poppy beauty
To become intoxicated by poppy abundance
To soothe the aches of being human
To pause in awe
The poppies rejoice in their being
How to weave a connection between all
Even as they are trampled
(I need to write a poem titled "I wish I were a better photographer, but this is the best I could do with my phone camera and my lack of skill."
For Poets United.