Classic Poem

When you sail for Poppyland,
Clasping fingers keep my hand.
Soon they loosen, and I know
You are where the poppies blow.

Looking through the dark I lie,
Thinking of your by-and-by,
Wondering what of joy and tears
Lies beyond the veil of years.

Then I spread the coverlet
O'er your flower heart, Babette,
Wishing that it held a charm
That should keep you safe from harm.

Will the new world be as kind
As the one we've left behind?
Or will all its charm be flown
Ere you are a woman grown?

Questions these that will not, dear,
Trouble you for many a year—
Which you will not understand
Till you hold a little hand.