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The
California Poppy
by Ina
Donna Coolbrith
Thy satin vesture richer
is than looms
Of Orient weave for raiment
of her kings.
Not dyes of old Tyre, not
precious things
Regathered from the long
forgotten tombs
Of buried empires, not the
iris plumes
That wave upon the tropic's
myriad wings,
Not all proud Sheba's queenly
offerings,
Could match the golden marvel
of thy blooms.
For thou art nurtured from
the treasure veins
Of this fair land; thy golden
rootlets sup
Her sands of gold - of gold
thy petals spun.
Her golden glory, thou!
on hills and plains
Lifting, exultant, every
kingly cup,
Brimmed with the golden
vintage of the sun. |