Death leaned in with a kiss –
stealing my breath away.
He brought me poppy flowers –
blood red with a scent of decay.
Feeling light headed and weak,
I swayed, and he held my hand.
Never would I have guessed
Death could be such a gentleman.
He sang a lullaby into my ear,
and I felt my eyelids droop.
Good night poppies, I murmured,
as Death drew the curtains closed.
Poppies have long been a symbol of sleep and death. Read my haiku poetry about these captivating flowers by clicking —