Hedgerow Poppies

A crimson splash with brambles lashed,

The road beside waylaid,

The road ahead looking grey and dead,

Reverse (rehearsed) well paid.

To touch, to see, to hold, to be,

A part of such a scene,

'Twas cause to step, - though slight inept,

The way that I’d just been.

To capture fast the light and cast,

The grass to centre played,

The magnitude of hedgerows hued,

While all but red did fade.

No Godly touch or angel dust,

Without trace or stain or bleed,

Or half as much the heart to brush,

Could such a red decree.

©Philip Holden

2003

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