Under The Bushes We Meet Poem by James McLain

Come out, come out of the yellow thick snow
Where I am.
High in the sky the yellow warm sun
Felt on your face in deep sleep.

Be not bitter, be not as hard as the tree,
Each bush filled with joy,
Surrounded by leaves, without the sharp Thorns, full and green.
Hear me, feel me and hurry come out,
Here by the sea,
The sea that we loved where the path takes
Us down to be cleaned.

Washed in the waves next to the place,
Onder the bushes where we meet.