Love, let me pick you
a bright bouquet,
all the flowers
of the day,
now, at our start,
freshly plucked
from the garden
of my heart.
Not as much
as you deserve,
but mine to offer,
and I do:
all I have to give,
but true.
- mce
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Tempestuous
ReplyDeleteNear the Canterbury Bells,
and symphonies of Angel Trumpets;
there the Labiatae flourishes.
Harvested dreams
on fragrant pillows
carried on summer's breath.
Reaped in the calm
before the ravages
of stormy pinnacle.
Pacified
in the aftermath
of wild outbursts
it grows lush again
in all its sweet-smelling
splendour
~Asphodel
And from this lovely poem, I - a plant guy - learn a new and sensuous name. Lush, indeed...
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