Sunday Morning Poetry

the first of all my dreams was of
a lover and his only love,
strolling slowly (mind in mind)
through some green mysterious land

until my second dream begins—
the sky is wild with leaves; which dance
and dancing swoop (and swooping whirl
over a frightened boy and girl)

but that mere fury soon became
silence: in hunger always whom
two tiny selves sleep(doll by doll)
motionless under magical
foreverfully falling snow

And then this dreamer wept:and so
she quickly dreamed a dream of spring
—how you and i are blossoming

~ e e cummings


I Am Not Here taken by Quizz. More of her wondersome images, here.