Spring Comes
They say spring is paradise.
Will I think so too
as my lips get paler
and fingers paper thin?
Flowers - all of them
poppies, reminders
like the tissued kind
sold by valorous veterans.
Will poppies ever turn
to lilacs and carnations
before these fields turn
brown in fall?
Death resides
in the eye of the poppy;
no wonder their smells
are sweet.
I know the blossoms
mortal hint and
collect each fallen petal
for my basket.
©Kathryn McL. Collins
May 24, 2004
Copyright © Kathryn Collins | Year Posted 2012
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