Edmund Wong Poems
Comments about Edmund Wong
By The Store
One ordinary night, when you are playing with your fingernail
By the store, my dreary eyes are filled with seldom pleasure,
Of finding alone right before them a hidden treasure,
Proudly in triumph, as many a voracious eye fail
To discover man’s self-effaced worth. Yet let it be,
So selfish me can be your sole company.
But, alack, when finally my eyes are free to see thee,
And ears to hear love’s first symphony,
Thou look away, freely, the heavenly melody desists,
Restoring my ordinary life, where nothingness persists.
Thou Art My Fifth Season
How jocund is Spring if thou art missing?
The nightingales' songs are sweetly sung,
Yet, unwarranted, disrupt my musing
On which thine apparition is up hung.
And what is Summer lacking thee, my dear?
Oft too hot he beams, like a wild fever,
Mellowed not by thy fountain pure of love;
Without thy fairness his humor is rough.