The White Ship (7) - Poem by David McLansky
(7) Meeting II
I think of her and enter a forest
Richly gardened by a florist,
Tall standing trees that gently shade
Their columns in a pillared glade.
I walk beneath their canopy
And stoop to pick the peony,
The begonia and the wild anemone
Lead me to our tranquil home.
She wore a floral garden dress,
A hand-embroidered flowered vest,
She herself, an uncut flower,
Fragile in her beauty's power.
I knelt before her at first meeting,
She raised me up in gentle greeting.
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