Disclaimer: Tolkien’s vision – in more ways than one.
Faramir remembered childish delight in the Pelennor’s jewel-studded meadows: ruby poppies, sapphire corncrake, ox-eyes, shining from the gold-greenness before it was cut, dried into sweet hay. Once, he’d discovered vacant-eyed men slumped in a darkened inn. ‘Poppy-smokers’, Amah muttered disdainfully, before hurrying him to safer, more suitable places.
Years later, he discovered Poppy’s value for himself, when a battle-axe broke his shoulder, when an Easterling’s arrow pierced him… The healers knew its proper use, but... He’d also drifted... far beyond the deeps of poppy-juice visions.
That summer, poppies bloomed again; bitter-sweet, bloody reminders... for sometimes, his dreams were still fever-dark.