The Swaying Poppy

The wind it blows so harshly on my eyes,
(Thus whined the boy with wavelets on his hair)
I cannot see the sun before it dies,
Nor can I see my willow anywhere.

The wind it makes my eyes shed tears so strange,
That I know not the woes that make me weep.
My heart it rests so still it doth but sleep,
And never sways to feel the tides that change...

Thus whined the boy with wavelets on his hair
As he walked mid the willows by the sea,
And hoped to find his own tree in the haze...

Young Hippasus, who also wandered there,
Said: "come and see your willow! Can't you see
Your willow is a poppy: how it sways!"