I woke, my hands dreaming on her thighs
the sun in the window, Morning Glory,
a robin in the holly.
Seems an age since last we kissed
memory's yesterday lingered
fresh as new mown hay.
She was sleeping so I thought,
does not stir as I raise my head
to touch her tempting breasts, but
she was woman and not asleep,
those breasts are proffered.
She looked at me and smiled
I drew my hand from dreaming
tried to move away, her thighs
closed round the welcome palm
so we lay as yester' eve.
I loved the soft silk gown,
thought I felt it now.
In the night my love slipped the dress.
Butterfly out of its chrysalis,
seeking the morning glory,
wings expanded wanting flight and me.
The sun rose high, no longer in the window
the robin too has gone his way.
Sunday bells rang out, their noisy cries ignored,
another day perhaps, perhaps another day.
John Rickell's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Morning Glory by John Rickell )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(10 February 1970-)
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