I came upon a sight, one day
That took my very breath away.
I stopped along that wooded crest
To find a moment’s rest.
And what should I see, when looking down
But a sea of flowers growing round
In a pattern Mother Nature must have made.
Was it done to greet me on my way?
Rippling windward were the poppies faced abreast.
They danced amidst the gales, then running west.
I paused to see them praise the morning breeze,
Bowing their sprightly heads beneath the trees.
I have debated for some while what to say
About the wind that wept and made the poppies sway.
That vibrant vale summoned me at its behest;
I think I liked the orange ones the best.
But do I dare disturb Her muted fervor?
Do my inelegant words disgrace Her further?
For even if I use my words to name
The splendor my mortal eyes did see untamed,
There is no human way to thus confess:
The very valley of those blossoms, heaven-blessed.
Filled with hues of vivid colors, like a flood
Of incandescent beauty from above.