'Why is my love always a crying thing of wings?'So asked Carl Sandburg in HAZE from Harvest Poems. Oh, that is such a marvellous line, I am deeply admiring jealous of it.
Here are some poems I wrote today:
My green hearted forest of blooming dreams
Brave are you
Tall are you
Pure and waving are you.
Within each, a lover and a thinker.
The poets, however, have forgotten how to think at all.
The philosophers are in love with thinking.
The fools have all together forgotten love.
The roots of a mighty tree spread wide;
"But I know nothing of vast things," says the tree.
"Only, I wear the setting sun as a crown every day
And am satisfied."