Wednesday, November 27, 2013

The Springtime of Our Love (Poem)

It was the Springtime of our love
When I plucked you in full bloom
And named you Engine of all Felicity.
Famed for sweet complicity -
I hoped you'd cool my intensity.

But none of that!
No cool breeze, you,
No mere delicate flower.
You were the bellows to my embers
A December wind upon a pyre
Built of drought-dried timbers.

And as I’m full aflame
No mere oak grove could satisfy me.
But there you float:
A redwood capped hydra,
Ever replenishing
To feed me beyond judgement.