With a spurn of yellow and a shout
A lone Mexican poppy
Aside the mountain path
Caught my meandering eye.
How diminutive was its stem
And so few were its petals –
Nevertheless – smart with poison –
As it stood there – tranquil.
For one who’s loud in color –
I warned the little poppy –
It’s not good to be popular
For you can be plucked easily.