Hemlocked Heart

When winter’s first poppy,
With a youthful determined spirit,
Breached the earth’s surface,
Frosty rays hit the green tail,

As it felt a blushing smile
Wind warmly round its roots
Wrapping it in the guardian’s blanket
And feeding the wee tender sprout.

With pointed patience that guides
Starving seed to thriving trees,
And iron will, plated with gold
Feeds the naive poppy’s growth.

Up, up from its first home
The youth reaches toward Helios.
Ever knowing their season,
Soft raindrops, rust-pink skies.

At last spring has arrived
with a prayer and a promise,
Together with piglets and fawns,
Sunset poppies flower writing earth’s songs.

And Demeter, rye life giver,
Gave stern shelter and grace
To each little blooming poppy,
Despite the bittersweet taste.

The one who grows bounties,
Barley, figs and pomegranates,
Tirelessly sings beneath my feet
Breathing fresh life into poppies and me.