My darling Miss Poppy shook herself prettily, as if she uttered a sweet word out of her heart. I imagined every sort of speech that may come from such a tiny bit of flower.
“Sodah, she said that she loved me!” I murmured.
I made a little letter.
“Miss Poppy:
“I love you too.
“Yours,
“Morning Glory.”
I rolled it to a ball. I dropt it in her cup.
The moon turned gold. The evening odour filled the air.
Look!