Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts. <br />Nor the woman in the ambulance <br />Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly -- <br /> <br />A gift, a love gift <br />Utterly unasked for <br />By a sky <br /> <br />Palely and flamily <br />Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes <br />Dulled to a halt under bowlers. <br /> <br />O my God, what am I <br />That these late mouths should cry open <br />In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.<br /><br />Sylvia Plath<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poppies-in-october/
