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Poppy Poem

Updated on December 22, 2016

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Start of the adventure!
Start of the adventure!

Poppy

Popponessett

By Poppo

There is a summer place,

Where black jetties hold the sea to the land,

Gnarled fingers jeweled with sea shells

In their golden sand settings.

Sounds of gentle surf,

Scree of a gull,

Sighs of the beach grass,

Are often pierced by the cry of a child

Who will NOT leave the waves …

Even for Grandma!

Dunes allow passage to the spit,

But only to herds of lost boys

Who ran out of slapping screen doors,

Still chewing Cheerios,

Carrying buckets and poles,

Not to be seen again until supper.

Back here I brought my young wife

For a fancy beachside dinner.

Then again, our daughters

And their friends,

To learn to love this place as I do,

And now as my grandchildren do.

Back here I brought my mom

For her last seventeen months

Of failing body and mind,

To ENJOY her final months

That might have been spent

In loneliness and confusion.

Mom may have passed, at peace, in sleep,

But I, and my own grandchildren,

Will NOT come out of the water!

Because the jetties still hold

The sea to the land,

The beach grass sighs,

Gentle waves still lap

Far beneath the gull …

Ho! Hear again … the scree!

She calls to the boys,

Still lost until suppertime.

©Jack Braddock 1961, 1975, 2016

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