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Edmund Pollard

Rating: 2.8

I would I had thrust my hands of flesh
Into the disk-flowers bee-infested,
Into the mirror-like core of fire
Of the light of life, the sun of delight.
For what are anthers worth or petals
Or halo-rays? Mockeries, shadows
Of the heart of the flower, the central flame!
All is yours, young passer-by;
Enter the banquet room with the thought;
Don't sidle in as if you were doubtful

Whether you're welcome -- the feast is yours!
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7/29/2021 6:47:34 AM # 1.0.0.666