The tender moon, alone, may bare
Its beauty to the secret air.
Who’d venture past its dark retreat
Must kneel, for holy things and sweet,
That blossom, mystically blown,
No man may gather for his own
Nor touch it, lest it droop and fall….
Oh, I am not like that at all!

Similar Posts

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *