The flowers
I wanted to bring to you,
Wild and wet,
From the pale dunes
And still smelling
Of the summer night,
And still holding a moment or two
Of the night’s cricket’s
Humble prayer,
Would have been
So handsome
In you hands-
So happy-I dare to say it-
In your hands
Yet your smile
Would have been nowhere
And maybe you would have tossed them
Onto the ground,
Or maybe, for tenderness,
You would have taken them
Into your house
And given them water
And put them in a dark corner
Out of reach.
In matters of love
Of this kind
There are things we long to do
But must not do.
I would not want to see
Your smile diminished.
And the flowers, anyway,
Are happy just where they are,
On the pale dunes,
Above the cricket’s humble nest,
Under the blue sky
That loves us all
I am thinking of the days when I have risen and either forgotten about the sky above, or having seen it, not noticed the grandeur of that above because I was concentrating on what was before me, or in me. I am not saying I was “wrong” for not seeing bird in tree or flower in field or cloud in sky, I’m just saying:
There is beauty ever ready to be loved
It is all around us
And we are like the mad poets, writing about love unreturned when if we but look, the love will return.
For it is in us, connected to the beauty without.
So may I today look up, see the sky, and speak not of unrequited love, but of love fulfilled.
Where has love not returned to you?
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