By Claude McKay
Your lips are like a southern lily red,
Wet with the soft rain-kisses of the night,
In which the brown bee buries deep its head,
When still the dawn's a silver sea of light.
Your lips betray the secret of your soul,
The dark delicious essence that is you,
A mystery of life, the flaming goal
I seek through mazy pathways strange and new.
Your lips are the red symbol of a dream,
What visions of warm lilies they impart,
That line the green bank of a fair blue stream,
With butterflies and bees close to each heart!
Brown bees that murmur sounds of music rare,
That softly fall upon the langourous breeze,
Wafting them gently on the quiet air
Among untended avenues of trees.
O were I hovering, a bee, to probe
Deep down within your scented heart, fair flower,
Enfolded by your soft vermilion robe,
Amorous of sweets, for but one perfect hour!
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We had gorgeous mid-70s weather on Saturday, so after catching up on email and the news and eating lunch, Paul and I went to Wheaton Regional Park to enjoy the spring. We saw lots of animals (frogs, snakes, snapping and slider turtles, sparrows and swallows, tadpoles and catfish, geese though no goslings), the early azaleas, and the thousands of tulips planted at Brookside Gardens. It could not have been a nicer day!
Before coming home, we stopped at Roots Market, where (in addition to chocolate covered almonds) we got pumpkin ravioli and pesto sauce that we had for dinner. Then we caught up on Blindspot, which has been great this season, and Agents of SHIELD, which after nearly boring me into quitting for a couple of years has also had a really good season; I'm wondering whether/how it's going to integrate the events of Infinity War and its sequel.
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