Intoxication

Wandering lonely as a cloud,

the Wordsworth in me was doing the rounds.

Along came a bumble bee,

to settle on a lone red poppy.

Sniffing into the flower she went,

coming up for air she hummed.

Minutes ticked as she flitted,

delirious with the nectar sucked.

That’s when I remembered some poppy talk,

of sniffing, smoking and taking pot.

Powdered seeds of poppy, taken with coffee,

could make one dance in the dark.

It made me think of the bumble bee,

that can’t flit in a straight line you see.

If poppy nectar could do that to you,

Oh poor bumblebee, what will you do?

All of a sudden it turned windy,

The poppy turned a little floppy.

One by one, its petals dropped,

Falling to the dirt amongst the crops.

Along came a laborer,

who snipped the bud absently.

 Added it to his tobacco chews,

To later sniff away his blues.