A woman walks at evening in a garden of blood-red poppies, wearing a loose white gown. She is pregnant, and the child moves inside her, tugging at her body. The dew is starting to settle, and she faces the west. In that quiet, damp twilight, the movement of the child and the vivid red flowers come together, and she feels a shudder of gladness run through her bones and torso. The poem is not trying to argue anything; it just holds a moment of private, physical joy. The red flowers feel alive, almost matching the life growing inside her. The repeated first and last line gives the whole thing a circling, contented shape. The mood is soft, warm, and a little mysterious—full of color, new life, and the hush of evening.
Poppies — Summary
She loves blood-red poppies for a garden to walk in. In a loose white gown she walks and a new child tugs at cords in her body. Her head to the west at evening when the dew is creeping, A shudder of gladness runs in her bones and torsal fiber: She loves blood-red poppies for a garden to walk in.