Dear Poppy

It was the hour after midnight

You in bed, me under my room's dim lights

A sudden urge to break open the book

that I wrote whilst in Panama, my mind it overtook

As I sat hunched over my teenage journal

The memories, the emotions, written it is eternal.

I laughed, I cried, but by myself I could not bear it

My current of tears leading me to your room to share it

My father, you lied there, watching the news half asleep

But I jumped on the bed, and started to weep

"I miss those feelings, those friends, that life!"

You placed your hand on mine, an attempt to ease my strife

"Lulu, you'll get there trust me, it is true,

with your free and wild spirit, that love is in due."

This is to you, my Poppy, the culturer of truth

And I trust that my life will be the proof

That your wisdom will follow me well into the future

And when I have no one to cry to after midnight, that wisdom will be my heart's suture.