“Summer set lip to earth’s bosom bare, And left the flushed print in a poppy there: Like a yawn of fire from the grass it came, And the fanning wind puffed it to flapping flame. With burnt mouth red like a lion’s it drank The blood of the sun as he slaughtered sank, And dipped its cup in the purpurate shine When the eastern conduits ran with wine.” ~ Francis Thompson
Poppies in a field are rare around these part. Just lovely job on this image.
this is a wonderful shot. Love the edit you gave it 🙂