Thunderous Thursday

if i have made,my lady,intricate
imperfect various things chiefly which wrong
your eyes(frailer than most deep dreams are frail)
songs less firm than your body's whitest song
upon my mind- if i have failed to snare
the glance too shy-if through my singing slips
the very skilful strangeness of your smile
the keen primeval silence of your hair

-let the world say "his most wise music stole
nothing from death"-
only you will create
(who so perfectly alive)my shame:
lady through whose profound and fragile lips
the sweet small clumsy feet of April came

into the ragged meadow of my soul.



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the trick of finding what you didn't lose
(existing's tricky:but to live's a gift)


e e cummings
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Relief when it rains
Relief when the sigh escapes
Relief to be understood
Relief to live

M

'n boek
'n tee-koppie
'n blompot
'n besem
'n glimlag
'n ewigheid

m