Poppies of Wickenburg

Where Coronado's men of old
Sought the Pecos' fabled gold
Vainly many weary days,
Now the land is all ablaze.

Where the desert breezes stir,
Earth, the old sun-worshipper,
Lifts her shining chalices
Up to tempt the priestly bees.

Every golden cup is filled
With a nectar sun-distilled;
And the perfumes, Nature's prayer,
Sweetens all the desert air.

Poppies, poppies, who would stray
O'er the mountains far away,
Seeking Quivira's gold,
When your wealth is ours to hold?
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.