Converge Poem by Rachel Butler
Converge
(Dedicated to the unknown gardener)
You and I,
shall impute, our contretemps that meeting,
Of our intervals of light between two successive nights.
The physical sensation not pertinent with taste,
smell, hearing or sight,
our hearts.
No ambassador is able to impart,
neither can utter the dole guardianship of our lamenting.
No emissary could apperceive,
savour, clearly and with certainty be equal to,
You and I.
Sparrow
Of course, I am enjoying the read, and I appreciate the flare in your verse for making the reader think to solve the riddle nestled in the language that is poetry. Well done.
Another nice one... Pity you never got to know this unknown gardner... Ha Ha
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 4:01:47 PM # 1.0.0.1119
another delight from the garden of your life, Rachel