Saturday, 30 April 2016

The Whistling Thorn

The Whistling Thorn

As the western horizon touched her bosom to the red sun,
I believed they had a much more sensation,
A sensation than they habitually showed
And of much greater capacities than they ever developed.

My shrill,  breathy sounds
Gentle in the whispers of winds
This time,  prodded unusual enchatments
In my umbrella-bower of harmonizations
. .. Gazing at either's living eyes
With felicity crowning their faces
They sunk into a sweet forgetness
And clasped either's soft lips
In an affection and a love they told always
And rekindled a burning incense of their hearts

Saddie Smiles

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