Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Tea and Longfellow.

You occupy my thoughts.
You walk in during those odd moments
I am distracted
And with a voice like a Selucid siren
You ask me gently,
"May I come in and have tea?"
I open my minds door with perplexity,
Because, I know dearest, you do not like tea.
But I let you in anyway, and you sit
On the velvet couch that sets in the corner of my mind
And you look out of my minds window at the falling snow
And say,
"This is the poem of the air,
   Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
   Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded."
My dear, I must say
My confusion is growing
And my perplexity is glowing
But then, I look at your eyes,
And suddenly,
It does not matter where you learned to quote Longfellow,
Or since when you started
Liking tea.

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