but the other by E. E. Cummings
but the other day i was passing a certain gate rain fell as it will
in spring ropes of silver gliding from sunny thunder into freshness
as if god's flowers were pulling upon bells of gold i looked up
and thought to myself death and will You with elaborate fingers possibly touch
the pink hollyhock existence whose pansy eyes look from morning till night into the street unchangingly the always
old lady sitting in her gentle window like a reminiscence partaken
softly at whose gate smile always the chosen flowers of reminding
|