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The Spike: or, Victoria College Review, June 1928

Poppies

Poppies

I think of all flowers
Scarlet poppies are the bravest,
Flaunting silken petals in the holiest of holies,
See how that haughty rose hangs her crimson head in shame,
For the reckless riot round her of scarlet and of flame;
And that bank of pale hydrangeas, faintest pink and softest blue
Drop their heavy heads in sorrow at the flaring wanton hue
Of the garden interlopers.

But through the gold hours,
While the white rose looks her gravest,
And draws her green leaves back from these lowliest of lowlies,
The poppies swing their gaudy heads and kiss the rose's cheek;
Nor hang their silken slimness with the lowly and the meek;
They whisper with the wanton wind and scatter at his breath
Scarlet petals on the pathway, bright insignia of death
From the garden interlopers.

—K.Z.