Poppies: Carl Sandburg

She loves blood-red poppies for a garden to walk in.

In a loose white gown she walksand 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.

A Style of Loving - Vikram Seth

Light now restricts itself
To the top half of trees;
The angled sun
Slants honey-coloured rays
That lessen to the ground
As we bike through
The corridor of Palm Drive.

We two
Have reached a safety the years
Can claim to have created:
Unconsummated, therefore
Unjaded, unsated.
Picnic, movie, ice-cream;
Talk; to clear my head
Hot buttered rum — coffee for you;
And so not to bed.

And so we have set the question
Aside, gently.
Were we to become lovers
Where would our best friends be?
You do not wish, nor I
To risk again
This savoured light for noon’s
High joy or pain.