“Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze most softly lulling to my soul.” John Keats When we were little girls , many many moons ago, a favourite winter pass-time was to make little dolls out of the bright red poppies that grew in our garden. The petals would fold down to make bright red dresses, & the capsule on top would look just like the head. Gave us hours of fascinating pleasure, whiling away time with silliness of this sort. Cut back to now…a bag of black poppy seeds has been demanding my attention from time to time. In India we get a lot of white poppy seeds, known also…