With a spurn of yellow and a shout –
  A lone Mexican poppy
Aside the mountain path
  Caught my meandering eye.

How diminutive was its stem
  And so few were its petals –
Nevertheless – smart with poison –
  As it stood there – tranquil.

For one who’s loud in color –
  I warned the little poppy –
It’s not good to be popular
  For you can be plucked easily.