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.