Three dozen daises; a crown of petals,
How I wish
That I could give her something more -
That she would want something more
From me, from this world,
In return for all that she is, all that she gives...
How strikingly do the blossoms contrast
With those jet black curls,
Perfect ringlets, clinging to my fingers,
As though they don't want me
To go.
She says that is all she desires,
And yet I long to bring her something more -
If she were to want for anything,
I would have failed, I'm sure,
To honour this goddess
Despite her grace. I fear she is
Too gracious; too permissive,
Much too tolerant of men like me.
My offerings are meagre, and yet
The warmth of her smile
Always reaches her eyes -
It is me, she says,
That refuses to believe I am enough.
YOU ARE READING
Refraction.
PoetrySo many aspects, colours and themes make up our experiences. Truly, is anything entirely good or entirely bad? Upon weighing up the positives and negatives of the past, do we not admit that even tragedy is- in a twisted sort of way- advantageous? O...
