The BlueIris Semi-Nightly Poetry Break, 12/18/09

[BlueIris]

"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

[BlueIris]

1. But, but this is like the best one in like, ever.

Srsly.

[Tuesday Afternoon]

2. yes.

thanks for this one. :donut: