Intrusion
The lilies sag with rain-drops:
Their petals hold fire that does not break out.
(As though it slept between cool vapor-silk
It could not burn.)
And a young breeze stumbles upon the lilies
And strokes them with his spinning hands . . . .
The lilies and the young breeze are not unlike
Your silence and the rush of soft words breaking it.
Their petals hold fire that does not break out.
(As though it slept between cool vapor-silk
It could not burn.)
And a young breeze stumbles upon the lilies
And strokes them with his spinning hands . . . .
The lilies and the young breeze are not unlike
Your silence and the rush of soft words breaking it.
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