Where Poppies Grow
Where poppies grow in brilliant bursts of red
and bumble bees go searching with intent,
she often goes; there sits with dreamy eyes
suspending time, quiescent moments spent.
The wind intrudes on chain of mellow thoughts;
it sifts through youthful zest deprived of guile.
With gaze serene, she twirls a lock of hair
as lips betray a fleeting wistful smile.
Though far away, his presence lingers near;
his kiss like sunlight’s warmth on shoulders bare.
It seems to her, he whispers in her ear.
She breathes the fragrance of his tender care.
A sigh escapes her lips as she recalls
his body close to hers in moonlit night.
The promise that he made before goodbye
now makes her quiver with a strange delight.
For she has yet to know the fervent thrill
that overtakes the soul in love's embrace.
On his return, he’ll claim her for his own,
but now each nymph of nature wears his face.
A Callman Collaboration
Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian
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