Roving back through wild centuries
At rust and ripeness time
To land blood wet, martyrs fed,
A water melon still conceives
What alone bears peace-a sweet heart,
Summer's blood, timber scent-
Each slice for life time sweet,
Munch you as you would grapes or kisses.
Her only hope, wish for nothing on earth
Save eternal be her internal love's season,
Akin to sea plain where no autumn comes,
Though all things go, not one lasts.