The White Ship (7) Poem by David McLansky

(7) Meeting II

I think of her and enter a forest
Richly gardened by a florist,
Tall standing trees that gently shade
Their columns in a pillared glade.

I walk beneath their canopy
And stoop to pick the peony,
The begonia and the wild anemone
Lead me to our tranquil home.

She wore a floral garden dress,
A hand-embroidered flowered vest,
She herself, an uncut flower,
Fragile in her beauty's power.

I knelt before her at first meeting,
She raised me up in gentle greeting.