One Flower May Slay The Winter And

Ardent Yet Chill And Formal, How I Ache To Tempt A Chisel As A Sculptor.

Love Has No Charm When Love Is Swept To Earth: You'd Make A Lop-winged God, Frozen And Contrite, Of God Up-darting, Winged For Passionate Flight.

No Man Will Be Present In Those Mysteries, Yet All Men Will Kneel, No Man Will Be Potent, Important, Yet All Men Will Feel What It Is To Be A Woman.

Think Of The Moment You Count Most Foul In Your Life; Conjure It, Supplicate, Pray To It; Your Face Is Bleak, You Retract, You Dare Not Remember It.

We Don't Have To Know,only To Be:let Go The Jumble Of Worn Words,reason And Vanity.