THE POPPY - by Jane Taylor

THE POPPY by Jane Taylor High on a bright and sunny bed A scarlet poppy grew And up it held its staring head, And thrust it full in view. Yet no attention did it win, By all these efforts made, And less unwelcome had it been In some retired shade. Although within its scarlet breast No sweet perfume was found, It seemed to think itself the best Of all the flowers round, From this I may a hint obtain And take great care indeed, Lest I appear as pert and vain As does this gaudy weed.