The month; does but shiver into joy,
With the tears of a snow-drop,
Little-bells, buoyant, green and cloy,
Ringing; beyond the hilltop.
The lovers-root is a white-flower
On Valentine’s Day:
Thus it performs both sweet and sour
Piercing the walls; of shy Cathay.
Kisses: mingle, like woodbines...
As brown; blue jay’s mêlée in the eaves...
They’re limbs, entwined, like vines:
Need only, the wind, which cleaves.
Violets stir in her amethyst nap
She my oracle, my lover—sings
And awakens; from the frozen snap!
A mortal being, with; wings.
Comments
skinner_jennifer | February 22, 2011 - 10:33
Hi Mark Heathcote,
I absolutely adore this poem, so beautifully
descriptive, definitely one I could read again
and again.
Thankyou for a memorable read.
Jenny.
shoe | February 22, 2011 - 11:38
I think this is a beautiful poem, I wonder if you need all the punctuation - just a thought- and do you mean
'their limbs entwined, like vines'
The flower references are enchanting, much enjoyed.