wordings of the soul

Her Garden By Martins Deep

POSTED 03/22/2018 15:03
1909 Reads Her Garden By Martins Deep, Poetry on Tushstories
When God made thee
He planted Eden in thy arms
that I should rest
this head He planted
the noisy streets of ancient Rome.

...and when're I come with rejoicing
and find a forbidden hedge of thorns,
I weep like the damned
in hades.

I survey thy borders on Sundays,
Walk miles around on Mondays,
Trounce impatience on Tuesdays,
and weep at thy two-leaved gate on Wednesdays.
I think on thy refreshing Tigris on Thursdays
and fancy sighs of thy vegetation on Fridays
blowing softly into a lute bitterest dirges on Saturdays.

Seasons going in circles
and yet am I no where
nigh the tree of life
which I long to pluck from
to live forever in thy arms.

Fair woman
unfair thou art
to this man who would spread not
his tentacles where the blooms
of other gardens call.

Here before your fenced garden
I plant my being given to a holy lust
of thy fragrance the north-wind
steals to my desperate soul
till you let me in.

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