You know the bloom, unearthly white,
That none has seen by morning light-
The tender moon, alone, may bare
Its beauty to the secret air.
Who'd venture past its dark retreat
Must kneel, for holy things and sweet,
That blossom, mystically blown,
No man may gather for his own
Nor touch it, lest it droop and fall....
Oh, I am not like that at all!
Exquisite presence unfolding majesty all a poem should be.
Love Dorothy Parker, sometimes a little risqué and thank God for that. She always puts a little spark and satire in her poems. A little bit of mojo and va va voom. And I for one warmly welcome her and her well crafted poetry.
Tender moon! ! ! With the romance of nature. Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
Splendid write. Short and sweet. Loved it. Thanks for sharing.
The Evening Primrose blooms unearthly but mystically blown!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
In five beautiful couplets the poet envies moon's beauty, ending with 'Oh, I am not like that at all! ' Lovely.