Sunday, May 23, 2010

Sunday Night Poetry: ee cummings

It may not always be so; and I say
That if your lips, which I have loved, should touch
Another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch
His heart, as mine in time not far away;
If on another's face your sweet hair lay
In such a silence as I know, or such
Great writhing words as, uttering overmuch,
Stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

If this should be, I say if this should be --
You of my heart, send me a little word;
That I may go to him, and take his hands,
Saying, Accept all happiness from me.
Then I shall turn my face, and hear one bird
Sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

1 comment:

Sietse Brouwer said...

Thanks for posting that; I enjoyed it a lot. (But then I always enjoy it when you post poetry, and I mind your love of Cummings not at all. ;-) )