if I could fold wings for words
of red-petaled poppies
and affix them gently with a pin
I would launch a fleet of these
to flit and twit as sparrows
and settle in your trees
and whispering arrange themselves
so that waking you will see
poppy-winged my heart
spell out the love
that sleeps in me

© Sarah Whiteley


  1. Beautiful poem.

    It brought to mind this poem by A friend of mine called David Tait (He, like yourself is a romantic) –

    Sonnet in the Snow

    I knew it would stick, so I wake up early
    to put on my coat, and write you
    a sonnet in the snow. I stake the first claim
    of your street’s snowflake footprints then sketch it

    on the rooftops of four cars. The chalk crunch
    as I trace white words on metal, looping letters
    that curl precise for your eyes. When you open
    the blinds it will melt your chill heart.

    Though of course it doesn’t work out like this.
    The woman next door drives off with stanza two
    and I watch by the hedge as the blizzard summons day,
    and school kids kill the couplet for a man made of snow.

    Your sonnet in the snow glows pale below the moon.
    Your curtains never open, it has melted by noon.



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