saturday secret

From The Secret Garden 

In my garden,

Seen up close

The luscious poppy

Doubles petals

Sticky with the heat,

On offer

To the heavy sky.

Here fingers fumble

With the words

Slippy after

Toast and honey tea.

Lips just hold,

 the sweetness passing,

Scented by the sipping

Of a thousand flowers.

Will I be able

To recall

The taste of kisses,

When all feeling

Fades away?

Or will the spirit soar

To gather up

And magnify

The ecstasies

Of past delight,

Rising with the dawn

Across a silver sea?

 This poppy will return

Year by year,

If undisturbed

And welcomed

It is hoped-

As a memory

Of all that went before.

JL July 2011

 The poppy has ripened and its pepper pot top has cast its seed.  Will I see it next year?