I am pondering your gifts to the lily, the same as your gifts to me. Your water, clean, has soaked the dirt where never I have healed the hurt, sweet breath of air beneath your skirt may never a prisoner, free; yet the same are your gifts to me. The turn of your spade in fertile soil for which you give your time to toil won't leave the fruit to the sun to spoil, won't yet make a blind man see; still the same as your gifts to me. The song of your heart as it springs to your lips, as you tend the beds on the breeze, it slips, and the dance of the bees in the bend of your hips will not keep the axe from the tree; still as bright are your gifts to me.
OneUndone, that's really beautifully sad. I might punctuate the first stanza a bit more to make it more... actually I'd just change the comma after the "have healed the hurt" line to a period. Other than that I can see nothing that needs improvement. Excellent job.
what beauty as above with the inner tears maybe of what life is all about ......... lovenpeace from saff i felt overwhelmed by its openess.your poem
