Winding Its Way Backwards… - Poem by Mark Heathcote
In my heart, I have a flower
It’s scented. Have you not seen it?
Have you not yet—found that bower?
Not pricked one forefinger on it.
It, lies beside a stream, winding
It’s way backwards, to a garden,
Said one-time, to be called Eden.
Love, I’m not just eulogizing…
Find that bower, follow its scent.
Right to the flower’s heart, still rent
On loving you, it’s a serpent.
That’s fanged but lovingly verdant.
Bitten you’re emitted, a death
So, enigmatic the world pales
And like a honey-bee beneath
-Sepals amassing nectar bales...
You shall find the first flower, borne
Somewhere withstood the gaze of love.
You might think this flower lowborn
Found, there’s nothing sweeter above.
Comments about Winding Its Way Backwards… by Mark Heathcote
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You