Perhaps the Poppy, more than any other flower, seems to carry a particular mood, an emotional disposition of sorts. I admit its vibrant red gold petals might stand contrary to this idea but I think Poppies feel generally sad, even a bit put upon. You can see it in the way pool their unopened heads hang heavy toward the ground, in their stunningly slender necks that quiver wiggle in the thrust of any little breeze. Their bright disheveled heads all lamenting “Oh whoa is us, why must we grow here in this rocky wind beaten spance beside this highway?” Their lace work leafy arms all suplicant, “Oh lift us up, oh mournful day!”