There I stood, alone and forgotten,

Wilting as if no rain had come.

In the midst of winter, I am the poppy,

The one that awaits among the snow.

They say they love me,

Yet I’ve never picked.

I bloom in hopes one day I’ll be found,

A spectacle to marvel at,

Safe and sound.

Was it the feeling of being chosen,

I’d so desperately yearned for?

Or was it the promise they could see me,

A poppy, forevermore.