Saturday, June 03, 2017

Poem a Day 3


Your sighs, my lady, school my ear,
imbue its curve with whisper dear
that, like a mote in cunning shell
will seed a pearl where wavelets swell --
a tickle, like the breeze on grass
that swift on flitting feet must pass,
has touched my heart and seized my soul
and made this part to see your whole.

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