BlueIris
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Fri Dec-18-09 09:49 AM
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The BlueIris Semi-Nightly Poetry Break, 12/18/09 |
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"No Bees. No Fragrance."
Over your bed at last comes the stillness of trumpets,
the company of lilies in small sensible shoes
planted last fall, wore thin as a hangnail
from standing in place. They are all mouth, these flowers.
They have nothing to do with my mouth or my tongue.
They neither hum nor shine. Rooted in this world
they have grown out of it. Dear friend, is it this way where you are?
--Nancy Willard
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BlueIris
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Fri Dec-18-09 03:00 PM
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1. But, but this is like the best one in like, ever. |
Tuesday Afternoon
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Sun Dec-20-09 11:43 AM
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thanks for this one. :donut:
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