The bumble-bee that crawls
into the flower bell
whose buzzing never palls
her life's labour knows well.
The daisy in the grass
with face towards the sun
allows that light must pass
closing at even.
The nettle opportune
taking each chance
silver beneath the moon
performs a trembling dance.
I have no song of mine
nor labour true,
no simple act in time,
save loving you.
..
YOU ARE READING
Walls Fall
PoetryLetting go of Fortifications and Armouring. There are treasures to be found therein. This is the softest M7 walking in a bare skin. There are no similar stories
