It is true that every time I write, I want you to be near. So close and so near, I'd drop two poppyseeds in both of your eyes, one is lilac-purple, another be Christmas-red, See they grow and bloom, pollinated by my gaze, showered first in morning rain then evening breeze, Next summer, I'll come and collect them in the garden of sweet dreams under the same rainbow where we parted, So happy and foolishly contented, I kiss you Goodnight! Now I'm waiting for another springtime to smooth me out, where larks brightly sing and wide-mouthed orchids smile, Though my face is camouflaged with two blossoming poppies that of your eyes lavishly behold, my heart aches, crying out: 'He mustn't be deceived by what I am not and will never be!' Two beloved poppies, One is lilac-purple and another Christmas-red, Let them but stagger, wither from sight, To ease my anguish, fly away from night. How can I be better for you when I hide? But it is also true that every time I write, I know you want me to be near, too.