Potty About Poppies

A week or so ago I spotted one all on its very own,

Surrounded by only grass how had it grown,

This poppy oh so beautiful, red as red can be,

Intoxicating and wonderful, independent and free,

The next day three or four poppies had decided to pop out,

Were they there the day before, I started to seriously doubt,

But on the morrow I could not count them, there were so many more,

These popping out poppies like a red plush carpet covering the grassy floor,

The problem is that I want to pick one so I can gaze at my leisure,

My hand itches and twitches to pluck this velvety natural forbidden treasure,

I pull myself together, no, I am no breaker of the law,

I will just have to admire from afar, the poppies I adore,

But who could blame me, the latent opium transmitted is just too strong,

Would it be so terrible to succumb to the poppies intoxication, would it be so wrong?

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