Bright Poppies

Bright Poppies

 

I saw bright poppies
dancing that day
high up in the cracked arches
of the ancient abbey
in Ireland.

I thought of the dead
and how we honour them.

Oh ~ And in the stillness
I could hear the singing …

I wondered why the earth
lay in such an improbable place,
ready to cradle those poppy seeds;
but somehow it was perfect.

And I saw my father’s hands
in the shape of the archways,
fingers and thumbs tip to tip,
strong and thoughtful,
healing and kind.

The quiet breeze of peace
came rippling through me.

The poppies continued to dance.

Oh ~ And in the stillness
I could hear the singing …

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