Why are the poppies ?

We have to be breathing right to hear it,
the silence in which all song arises;
we have to be breathing slow and gentle
and not to be staring angrily at the world.
We have to be breathing right to feel it,
the tenderness in which we are held by nature.

We have to be breathing quiet and soft
and to be looking receptively,without desire.
We have to be breathing right to recall it
the music we heard when there was silence.
We have to be being breathed by the world
We have to be part of the whole..
and so,we forget it
as we are pounded by noise of radios and TVs
by people talking loudly on cell phones
by the green fields and river
by the secret heron
by the coots nest ,by the daisies

When I am dying  shall  I think
Why was I scarcely breathing?
Why did I forget those  joyous moments?
Why did I not live more deeply?
Why did I not sing more sweetly?
Why did I nor love more dearly?
Why did i not listen more carefully?
Why did I not sing more sweetly?
why did I not see more completely?
Why don’t we talk more gently?
Why don’t we look more intently?

Why are the poppies growing so wildly?
Why are the battlefields growing nightly?
Why do we murder  so lightly?
Why do we not love more rightly?
Why are the poppies covering the soil so politely?
Why did the young soldiers leave so frightfully?
Why are we not here more quietly?