The forget-me-not, and then the rose,
These are flowers that say something!
But to love poppies
And to love only that... you have to be an idiot!
You might be right! But here's the thing:
When I tell you, you'll understand!
The first time I saw her,
She was sleeping, half naked
In the summer light
In the middle of a wheat field.
And under the white corsage,
Where her heart was beating,
The sun, gently,
Was bringing a flower to life:
Like a little poppy, my soul!
Like a little poppy.

It's very curious how your eyes shine
Remembering the pretty girl!
They shine so brightly that it's a bit much
To explain... the poppies!
You might be right! But here's the thing
When I took her in my arms,
She gave me her beautiful smile,
And then, without saying anything,
In the summer light
We loved each other! ... we loved each other!
And I pressed so hard
My lips on her heart,
That in the place of the kiss
There was like a flower:
Like a little poppy, my soul!
Like a little poppy.

It's nothing more than an adventure
Your little story, and I swear to you
That it doesn't deserve a sob
Nor this passion... for poppies!
Wait for the end! You'll understand:
Another loved her who she did not love!
And the next day, when I saw her again,
She was sleeping, half naked,
In the summer light
In the middle of the wheat field.
But, on the white corsage,
Just at the place of the heart,
There were three drops of blood
That looked like a flower:
Like a little poppy, my soul!
A very little poppy.

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