Monday, June 15, 2009

Isn't it a lovely night?

And so alive with fireflies
Providing us their holy light
And here we made a bed of boughs
And thistles-downs that we had found
To lay upon the dewy ground

Wasn’t it a lovely breeze,
The swept the leaves of arbor leaves?
And bent to brush our blushing knees

And here we died our little deaths
And we were left to catch our breaths
So swiftly lifting from our chests...

1 comment:

M is for Margaret, who was swept out to sea...