Hundreds of poppies in the garden plot
Await the sun’s bright hands.
He’ll open them, but one will not;
Already spread, she stands.
She looked all night on stars above,
While all her sisters slept;
They only sought lost dreams to love;
Her waking dreams she kept.
What they have missed they’ll never know,
Who seek not starry light;
Alone she stands with golden glow,
In individual height.
Now clouds come in to block the sun
As higher he does rise;
The poppies sleep—all, all but one
Who smiles upon my eyes.