and all colour leached from the beach
this yellow horned poppy
shone like the midday sun.
A poppy grows upon the shore,
Bursts her twin cups in summer late:
Her leaves are glaucous-green and hoar,
Her petals yellow, delicate.
She has no lovers like the red,
That dances with the noble corn:
Her blossoms on the waves are shed,
Where she stands shivering and forlorn.
Shorter Poems Robert Bridges.
I've never seen a yellow poppy. Such a happy sight.
ReplyDeleteLucille, this is a beautiful post...and that yellow poppy at the shore is something wonderful that I would not otherwise have ever seen.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for such a sight, and also for the poem.
it's times like this that make me so happy to be a part of a blogging world...full of generosity.
xo
Unlike the red poppy , the yellow , unlinked to death , is just gloriously summer .
ReplyDeleteVery lovely. And to think I've been complaining about the rash of yellow poppies that has invaded my garden.....
ReplyDeleteWhat a magnificent beach.. great captures
ReplyDeleteI think the word for this is 'apropos'...? Or just, lovely.
ReplyDelete