National Poetry Month

[brigdh]

Thy Fingers Make Early Flowers by e.e. cummings

Thy fingers make early flowers
of all things.
thy hair mostly the hours love:
a smoothness which
sings,saying
(though love be a day)
do not fear,we will go amaying.

thy whitest feet crisply are straying.
Always
thy moist eyes are at kisses playing,
whose strangeness much
says;singing
(though love be a day)
for which girl art thou flowers bringing?

To be thy lips is a sweet thing
and small.
Death,thee i call rich beyond wishing
if this thou catch,
else missing.
(though love be a day
and life be nothing,it shall not stop kissing).

Comments

[evelyn-b.livejournal.com]

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwww ;_:

(I am even worse at writing about poems than I am at writing about prose, but awww, e. e. cummings).

[wordsofastory.livejournal.com]

Ha, me too! I love this whole poem, but that last line - ah!