Poppies in October - Sylvia Plath

Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts. Nor the woman in the ambulance Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly ----

A gift, a love gift Utterly unasked for By a sky

Palely and flamily Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes Dulled to a halt under bowlers.

O my God, what am I That these late mouths should cry open In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.