(Dedicated to the unknown gardener)
To it true.
Have all my good intentions vanished?
Has he with the distance of half the world
hypnotized me with his magnetism that
brings his presence to me on an electric wave?
Never to, believe the banter,
he is the most wicked and passionate of men -
bawdy with the boys, holding me tenderly and calm.
He loves my voice,
my ways intrigue.
Love the regularities
not the irregularities, I plead.
Penetrating, he probes my oceans deep.
Self cannot give up self so soon.
He has me closer and then mercilessly,
forgotten.
Sparrow
How I would love to fly to Ireland and chat over a cup of tea. Our kindred souls could use it. Fantastic, probably my favorite thus far.
There is a certain frisson felt on reading this poem.Your feeling is explicit and revealing in the secret realm of romantic love, with a little note of cool realism in the last two lines.
sophistry...to He loves my voice, my ways intrigue. Love the regularities not the irregularities, I plead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Fantastic, Romanticism balanced with realism.