Thy fingers make early flowers of
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).
~ E.E. Cummings
Welcome to the Tuesday Platform, your unprompted free-range day for sharing poems in the Imaginary Garden. Please look up from your phone and link up a poem. Then be sure to visit the offerings of our fellow writers.
8 comments:
Beautiful words
@KB; Thank you 😊 heading over to read you💞☕
Nice prompt poem. I'm not so romantic, my girl went the wrong way. I like e.e., especially after reading his historic novel, "The Enormous Room." Thank you, Sanaa.
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I've never read that e.e. cummings poem before - it's wonderful, Sanaa! Please excuse me if I post and run this evening but I'm in the middle of packing for my trip down to Hampshire to visit my daughter for her birthday. I will be up early in the morning and will do some reading and commenting then.
I'm joining with a piece on desire tonight.
@Bjorn; Yes I just posted too! And now to dive in and catch up on reading and commenting 💞☕
Just stopping in to say hello to all. I finished my year's assessments today! Woohoo... my time will be my own again, so looking forward to writing and reading once again.
@Kerry; That's wonderful!💞 I am so glad to hear that and have missed you a lot in the garden😊☕
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