The little girl in my story, which has been somewhat fictionalised, is myself at seven years of age. We did plant poppies in the school garden and it is a fond memory for me. As a result poppies will always have a special place in my heart...Goldie
‘Hurry up children, we must be finished soon, school is nearly over for today,’ said the teacher. The grade twos were preparing the garden bed at the front of their classroom to plant poppies – Iceland poppies. Some were digging, some were pulling out weeds, and others were raking.
‘Line up quickly, please,’ she called as she started to give each child the tiny seeds. The fair-haired little girl clutched her seeds tightly in her fist while she waited for her turn to plant them. When it came, she knelt in the garden bed and made small holes in the dirt with the tips of her fingers, gently putting each seed inside its hole and covering it with earth.
She stood up, wiped the dirt from her hands and knees with a handkerchief, and watched as a boy called Haydn watered the poppy garden…
Winter passed and spring came. The poppies grew and came into bloom, cups of many colours that swayed in the breezes. The fair-haired little girl skipped by the poppy garden, paused and turned back to admire the flowers. She bent down and stroked an orange petal. ‘You are beautiful,’ she told the poppy. ‘And I will love poppies forever.’
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