Poppies (song)

In the field the poppies grow
Row on row and row on row
Where the wheat meets the grass
Where I lie down with my lass

Beneath her dress she’s white as milk
Her hair as soft as any silk
Her kiss is sweet, her breath’s the scent
Of the wild peppermint

And in the field the poppies grow
Row on row and row on row
Where the wheat meets the grass
Where I lie down with my lass

She tells me of a wee baby
And how I’ll make a fine daddy
We’ll build a house down by the stream
Where the ransoms blow and dream

We build the house and the babies come
They find their feet and away they run
Life can be dark or bright as the sun
When you’ve got your little ones

And in the field the poppies grow
Row on row and row on row
Where the wheat meets the grass
Where I lie down with my lass

We blink our eyes and the babes are grown
And they have babies of their own
The years have come and they have flown
Our work is done, the seeds are sown

Now we lie beneath the silent earth
Above the poppies blossom forth
Where other lovers come and lie
Upon the grass beneath the sky

And in the field the poppies grow
Row on row and row on row
Where the wheat meets the grass
Where I lie down with my lass


Notes

We are surrounded by fields of wheat, rye and barley, and the red corn poppies Papaver rhoeas do grow gaily along the margins in the summer. I was out for a walk one evening when the phrase “row on row” came into my head, from the poem “In Flander’s Field” by John McCrae (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In_Flanders_Fields).

My mind riffed off the theme of life and death in that poem and it morphed into a folk-song trip through an ordinary life, finding the transcendent in the simple things of life.

Ransoms is the wild garlic Allium ursinum. We have that locally too, and fills the air in damp secluded glades with the heady smell of garlic.

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