By Luis G. Dato
I have flown over flowers of perfume,
Fondled and touched them before,
I have kissed them so often and hotly,
That their lips seemed unmeaning to mine.
I am haunted by a meaning of petals,
Hovering in vain in the mind,
I am startled by a new significance
The petals convey with their eyes,
I am frightened by the thought that their color
Of pink and white provokes.
I see a red flower, I kiss a white rose,
I pluck not them But my eyes from the sight of these,
I falter to look into them, And fail to touch them again.
Ah! these eyes and hands that have often,
With a gaze, a caress profane, polluted and pure,
What lips are mine to speak of flowers!
I must leave the flowers of morning,
I must leave unprofaned,
These petals consecrated,
To mothers on earth,
To mothers in heaven
From purposed forgetfulness,
I peep on a dawn of flowers which
I Must not see,
I will sleep to forget them again,
As I have forgotten before.
This poem was written on Mother’s Day. -L.G.D.
