…the shy unfold of an embrace…

how innocent (the way a rose is shy)
the one that slowly bids a sun to smile
and linger in the rising (just a while)
to keep its light for one; and that is why
their only secret is the silence (no reply
or parlance will defy that bond) whose wiles
are just the beads of dew (just like a child
whose morning-nascent tears have yet to dry)
and oh how innocent the shy unfold
of an embrace (the mother is the sun;
the child just one small flower) whose dying cold
is just the birth of youthful warmth; so must
the innocence be fragile and the run
of time will break all innocence to dust.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s