A few of them this time. I’d like to hear what you think.
The maple has her syrup,
the birch her slender grace,
but only the weeping willow
grows hair to hide her face.
I clenched and set my fist and thought,
“Enough with patience!
I who once raved and fought
sought an alternative
in love, awe, inquisition and for what?
An emptier pen,”
and tossed away the notebook.
"The scholar, I hunch, tap the inkwell,
finding no time to start the life
for which I turn sophisticated.
Escapist through and through, and rife
with late depravities,
compounding on a melancholic nature
to cause long-winded blandness,
which I might call ‘preciser nomenclature’ – "
The phone broke out in song.
“Hi, I thought I’d call <i>you</i> tonight, --”
Emptied, I dimmed the light
and all was well, all would be well.
<b>This to Say</b>
Some claim we see by <i>contrast</i>, nothing else,
but I can prove exceptions: The soprano,
who sings with human warmth till sorrow melts,
becomes angelic when attuned to piano.
A tanned and haggard trooper on patrol
shows bravery to guard a harried region,
but only attains full splendor in his role
as common soldier in a ponderous legion.
Yes, love too works by such a miracle,
eking a secret life in isolation,
till paired with love that seems identical.
Marvel most! that this rule of combination
pertains as well to beauty – This to say,
your eyes are stars, your face is radiant day.