- Non-Erotic Poetry
- by the spring
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It is the season of hayfields
raked and turned.
We pray for rain,
we pray for drying days
and raise our faces to to praise
purple mulberries
that fall ripe into our hands.
Feet not yet summer tough,
I walk cautiously to meet you
on stained heels
and stubbed toes.
From the spring
we catch cold water
that seeps through rock
and exchange the fruits of the season.
You feed me samples
with raspberry red fingers
that linger on my tongue
with the seduction of salt.
Even the longest day of summer
passes too quickly
and soon it will be apples we bring,
bartering yellows for pinks
in baskets by the spring.
The moon heavy with the harvest
will walk us home.
- COMMENTS
Bill Dadaover 18 years agoI agree with 1201 on this one. It is very nice, but I prefer it when you lead me to places that I never imagined going to before.
sackalmost 19 years agothat isn't cute, clever, or cliche-ridden. I walked the walk with you, and it was relaxing! Thank you for this!
ishtatalmost 19 years agoWhen I was a child my mother had a wallpaper which illustrated scenes of Arcadian bliss.I'll have to apologise because my memory of those images is getting in the way of appreciating your poem which triggered something I had totally forgotten.Sorry!
ishtatalmost 19 years agoWhen I was a child my mother had a wallpaper which illustrated scenes of Arcadian bliss.I'll have to apologise because my memory of those images is getting in the way of appreciating your poem which triggered something I had totally forgotten.Sorry!
