Cornflowers and Poppies
When I was young, I saw first love in waving fields of wheat correction: "in fields of waving wheat" Thank you, Eira! still safe from reapers’ scythes. So lovely was your face— with cornflower eyes that shone in heaven’s blue. And your lips— those lips, kissed by the summer sun—how they glowed in poppy red as I embraced you with my brush’s strokes.
At harvest time came sharpened blades, and all your beauty fell to naught before my gaze, till I beheld a barren stubble field, soon plowed and buried in the soil— But let no plowshare lay to rest my painted memories of you.
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~~~~ It is a poem’s absolute perfection that can lead to its imperfection. ~~~~
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