Like a plump berry tastes of ripe noondays
Full-blossomed in snug evening rendezvous,
So a memory's fragrance should speak warmth.
Yet winter consumes all, deadly, deafly;
Her cold facts cloy bitterly to the tongues
Of men who'd speak but dare not remember.
If the frost taints, is a draught worth the dregs?
No comments:
Post a Comment