Between the poppies

We posed for the photo

Wishing for a bit more sunlight

But it was our last day

To soak in the pinks and whites

So we walked up the hill

To make another memory

Little did we know

It would be one of the last.

I want to go back there again

And ask the poppies

Whether they remember too

Can they still see our footprints

In the muddy path?

Can they still hear your voice,

Shouting,  A little bit to the right?

But now your voice is lost

In the ominous clouds

It slowly became  inaudible

Like a dirt road vanishing 

Into a field

Of pink and white poppies.

Author's Note

Painting my by aunt, Kobie Loftie-Eaton. I deliberately did not crop the image, showing it on the easel, because it was just finished. It is a painting from a picture, and the two people walking next to the field is myself and my aunt. Her daughter took the picture, during a road trip the three of us took. A few months after this picture was taken, my cousin died of Covid.

Reviews

[SleeplessVolcano]

Thanks Fabian - yeah, nature does something to us when we can be in its midst.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

This was quite interesting. I enjoyed the read. I've never been in a poppy field before but it sounds like an exhilarating experience from which to build a memory. I like the painting.