Desert Flower Poem by James McLain

Pure golden rain I have gathered honey water
which is not sifted by sand nor soiled
having depended upon the rain that falls
of the many people whom raised you.

The eye which you turn,
skims over that way of the wild animal in me
which shows her smooth cheek
not to I but to others which is prohibited.

And she shows the neck
like the neck of the grand white swan.
When that of his girth increases that of she,
being clear of decoration, Am I imbalanced?

And when it is loosened,
the leaf which floats completes with wet air.

Heavy load, O woe is me
which decorates her chest like clustered grapes gathering
thick black orbs, the darkness it colors very.

Hers unlike mine on her head
is lost with the hair
which is draped and the hair which falls loosely.

Her form seems like the stalk of the callused palm wood
which bends from the weight of the fruit.
At morning, when she awakes, as for the particles of the musk
it has met the dawn and left to her bed.

She sleeps during morning greatly
as her want
As for her as for the necessity to grant to her west
where the clothes that function as silk
have been loosely attached it is not.

My illusion which she loads with thin fingers
where she as been the earthworm of the wood
made of the oak sap.
Where those are large, is not thick is abandoned.

At evening as for her as she is the light
I write of the tower of the monk,
the darkness is made that much brighter.

She is proportionate the long gowns
may be the height between the uncommon people.
But gracefully you finish the hearts center dearly.

The counselor where I am ever wise
for your sake of what is what was still I ignored,
but I turned they from those whom now say.