Today's poet

Drench

You sleep with a dream of summer weather,
wake to the thrum of rain—roped down by rain.
Nothing out there but drop-heavy feathers of grass
and rainy air. The plastic table on the terrace
has shed three legs on its way to the garden fence.
The mountains have had the sense to disappear.
It's the Celtic temperament—wind, then torrents, then remorse.
Glory rising like a curtain over distant water.
Old stonehouse, having steered us through the dark,
docks in a pool of shadow all its own.
That widening crack in the gloom is like good luck.
Luck, which neither you nor tomorrow can depend on.

Anne Stevenson

January

She saw how the trees' shadows lay down
with the shadows already collected
inside each footprint in the snow—which
wasn't white, exactly,
but a color that leaned like the trees'
shadows leaned (the trees unbalanced
by the sun's thinning glow)—the snow,
was it blue? no, the color of afterthought,
maybe, of imitated light—

and here she wavered, but not the shadows
(those sharp replies), not the bristling
wreckage of leaves that breached
the snow. Not the footprints that walked away.

Katharine Rauk

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

meant to post this last night but one child (who is now fine) projectile vomitted all over her bedroom...still better late than never...

Danse Russe
by William Carlos Williams
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists above shining trees, -if I in my north roomdance naked, grotesquelybefore my mirror waving my shirt round my head and singing softly to myself: "I am lonely, lonely, I was born to be lonely,I am best so!" If I admire my arms, my face, my shoulders, flanks, buttocks against the yellow drawn shades, -Who shall say I am not the happy genius of my household?

---

:D:D:D:D Now that did make me laugh - thank you for cheering me up even more Frecks.

Some lovely choices as ever from both Hes and Alf...the january one was very enigmatic!

Last night our dog Marls died, she had a long and happy life but its still hard to say goodbye and will be missed, my five year old was asking where would she go and if she would be a ghost...then i found this poem...

The Ghost Dog
Caitlin Healey

The ghost dog awakens from his dream
His golden locks now faded
Whiskers sprouting from his face
Quivering as he sniffs.
His old limbs reborn
Chasing after an invisible ball
To the garden he used to know.

The ghost dog wanders around
His eyes like tiny pots of chocolate sauce.
Barking his silent bark
If anyone approaches the house

It’s his home
Not the dogs next door
Not the dog down the lane
The lane he used to run
His home only

The ghost dog has only one memory
A little blonde girl feeding him cornflakes
He waits in the kitchen
Waiting for them to come
Waiting for the little blonde girl
Hoping

A patter of little footsteps
A toddle into the room
A single word “Doggy”
A chubby fingered stroke
A pull of his tail
The ghost dog trots back into the woods
The woods where he used to play
Lies down on a blanket of soft autumn leaves
And goes back to his eternal dream.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Derby Tup

William Butler Yeats - When You Are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars

---

A stuning stunning poem. So beautiful, so subtle. Yeats could do complex, profound poems about some of the great themes, but when wrote of his love for Maude Gonne, this or He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven, it is very hard not to be moved. He was, quite simply, a genius, for me the greatest mind this country has produced.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

Some lovely choices as ever from both Hes and Alf...the january one was very enigmatic!

Last night our dog Marls died, she had a long and happy life but its still hard to say goodbye and will be missed, my five year old was asking where would she go and if she would be a ghost...then i found this poem...

The Ghost Dog
Caitlin Healey

The ghost dog awakens from his dream
His golden locks now faded
Whiskers sprouting from his face
Quivering as he sniffs.
His old limbs reborn
Chasing after an invisible ball
To the garden he used to know.

The ghost dog wanders around
His eyes like tiny pots of chocolate sauce.
Barking his silent bark
If anyone approaches the house

It’s his home
Not the dogs next door
Not the dog down the lane
The lane he used to run
His home only

The ghost dog has only one memory
A little blonde girl feeding him cornflakes
He waits in the kitchen
Waiting for them to come
Waiting for the little blonde girl
Hoping

A patter of little footsteps
A toddle into the room
A single word “Doggy”
A chubby fingered stroke
A pull of his tail
The ghost dog trots back into the woods
The woods where he used to play
Lies down on a blanket of soft autumn leaves
And goes back to his eternal dream.

---

Oh Freckle I'm so sorry to hear that news - I lost my cannine running companion a few years ago and he's still very much missed. Even now when I arrive at the garden gate, or reach for my fell shoes I often expect to see him and that look of delighted expectation. I bet you provided her with a wonderful life and have dozens of memories. Great poem - very appropriate.

Rest in Peace Marls, all dogs go to heaven, sorry for your loss freckle:-(

thankyou mossy and steve for your thoughtful and kind words, brought a lump to my throat when you talked about your old fellrunning partner mossy.

Hi Freckle, I loved your poem choice and I'm really sorry to hear about Marls. That's so sad, she'll be really missed. Losing a dog is really hard and I'm dreading when my estranged little hairy terrier finally goes. They give us so much and so many happy memories.xx

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

thankyou mossy and steve for your thoughtful and kind words, brought a lump to my throat when you talked about your old fellrunning partner mossy.

---

What the Seed Knows

winter plods on like a Russian novel, spring
hints, haiku

tight blouses unbutton, jackets unzip,
skin is not just skin

rich soil proliferates
in the heart, in the hand
that can never let go

rivers flow unseen, underground, unfettered
unfathomable

some dig down, some rise up
some survive

sleep is not dreamless:
how else the orange, the dogwood?
the phalanx of asparagus?

coddled in the pod,
all the seed needs:

darkness, more snug
than light

grit splits the rock, raises
a tiny fist, screams
the world into profusion
of petaled racket

to uncurl and unfurl
to unhusk from the crust

to inhale, exhale
turn toward what's bright


ANITA SKEEN

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

What the Seed Knows

winter plods on like a Russian novel, spring
hints, haiku

tight blouses unbutton, jackets unzip,
skin is not just skin

rich soil proliferates
in the heart, in the hand
that can never let go

rivers flow unseen, underground, unfettered
unfathomable

some dig down, some rise up
some survive

sleep is not dreamless:
how else the orange, the dogwood?
the phalanx of asparagus?

coddled in the pod,
all the seed needs:

darkness, more snug
than light

grit splits the rock, raises
a tiny fist, screams
the world into profusion
of petaled racket

to uncurl and unfurl
to unhusk from the crust

to inhale, exhale
turn toward what's bright


ANITA SKEEN

---

Oh no, I think that qualifies you as a cheerful dickhead Hes :)

The days are getting longer, say cheerful dickheads

Ha ha ha...yep. I'm a 'sunny-side-up halfwit'.

"If one more glass-half-full simpleton tells me 'we're over the worst' I will bury them alive with a looped recording of Birdsongs of the Norfolk Broads."....quite like the sound of that actually, bring it on!:thumbup:

Cheers Stolly.:p

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Stolly

Oh no, I think that qualifies you as a cheerful dickhead Hes :)

The days are getting longer, say cheerful dickheads

---

Winter

When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp’d and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson’s saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marion’s nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

William Shakespeare
Love's Labours Lost

(I thought he was a bit tough on Joan though :rolleyes: )

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Alf

Winter

When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp’d and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson’s saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marion’s nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

William Shakespeare
Love's Labours Lost

(I thought he was a bit tough on Joan though :rolleyes: )

---

Lovely Alf I enjoyed reading that...i agree about joan, poor thing!

still no snow here and I have snow envy, but ...by eck its a sharp night!


Winter Heavens
George Meredith


Sharp is the night, but stars with frost alive
Leap off the rim of earth across the dome.
It is a night to make the heavens our home
More than the nest whereto apace we strive.
Lengths down our road each fir-tree seems a hive,
In swarms outrushing from the golden comb.
They waken waves of thoughts that burst to foam:
The living throb in me, the dead revive.
Yon mantle clothes us: there, past mortal breath,
Life glistens on the river of the death.
It folds us, flesh and dust; and have we knelt,
Or never knelt, or eyed as kine the springs
Of radiance, the radiance enrings:
And this is the soul's haven to have felt.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

still no snow here and I have snow envy, but ...by eck its a sharp night!


Winter Heavens
George Meredith


Sharp is the night, but stars with frost alive
Leap off the rim of earth across the dome.
It is a night to make the heavens our home
More than the nest whereto apace we strive.
Lengths down our road each fir-tree seems a hive,
In swarms outrushing from the golden comb.
They waken waves of thoughts that burst to foam:
The living throb in me, the dead revive.
Yon mantle clothes us: there, past mortal breath,
Life glistens on the river of the death.
It folds us, flesh and dust; and have we knelt,
Or never knelt, or eyed as kine the springs
Of radiance, the radiance enrings:
And this is the soul's haven to have felt.

---

Apparently there is some snow on the way for you freckle :D

Blow, blow, thou winter wind

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.


Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remembered not.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly...


William Shakespeare
As you like it

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Alf

Blow, blow, thou winter wind

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.


Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remembered not.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly...


William Shakespeare
As you like it

---

well i thought the wind quite unkind tonight on my run alf , especially with the attached hail!...but at least , fingers crossed you might be right...snow on its way, gotta be some bonus to being nithered!...bring it on...


one of my fave poems, posted before and here again....

Snow
Louis MacNeice

The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:World is suddener than we fancy it.
World is crazier and more of it than we think,Incorrigibly plural.
I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes
-On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands
-There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

well i thought the wind quite unkind tonight on my run alf , especially with the attached hail!...but at least , fingers crossed you might be right...snow on its way, gotta be some bonus to being nithered!...bring it on...


one of my fave poems, posted before and here again....

Snow
Louis MacNeice

The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:World is suddener than we fancy it.
World is crazier and more of it than we think,Incorrigibly plural.
I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes
-On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands
-There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.

---

All sorts going on in that poem freckle both inside and outside the "room" :cool:

We have had over 4" of snow here so I am looking forward to a run out in it tomorrow :D

Snow

Then all the dead opened their cold palms
and released the snow; slow, slant, silent,
a huge unsaying, it fell, torn language; settled,
the world to be locked, local; unseen,
fervent earthbound bees around a queen.
The river grimaced and was ice.
 

               Go nowhere-
thought the dead, using the snow-
but where you are, offering the flower of your breath
to the white garden, or seeds to birds
from your living hand. You cannot leave.
Tighter and tighter, the beautiful snow
holds the land in its fierce embrace.
It is like death, but it is not death; lovelier.
Cold, inconvenienced, late, what will you do now
with the gift of your left life?

Carol Ann Duffy

I've been catching up on some of your wintry choices...its been nice to get lost in some poetry again. Here's one I found today.

Winter Conversation

by Joyce Wakefield


I listen to you explain the difference
between a right brain thought and a left.
I am distracted by the smell
of cold on your face.
I lick it away like a child
with an ice cream cone
sticky fingers and sweet tongue.

Aware that I have been here before
I pause in your words.
I have slept in this flesh,
dreamed these winter bones.

Waking in the darkness between us
I hear frost sweeping the porch,
edging toward the morning.
I reach for your hand.

What, you whisper, voice hoarse with dream.
My lips, swollen with you, cold,
are silent

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

I've been catching up on some of your wintry choices...its been nice to get lost in some poetry again. Here's one I found today.

Winter Conversation

by Joyce Wakefield


I listen to you explain the difference
between a right brain thought and a left.
I am distracted by the smell
of cold on your face.
I lick it away like a child
with an ice cream cone
sticky fingers and sweet tongue.

Aware that I have been here before
I pause in your words.
I have slept in this flesh,
dreamed these winter bones.

Waking in the darkness between us
I hear frost sweeping the porch,
edging toward the morning.
I reach for your hand.

What, you whisper, voice hoarse with dream.
My lips, swollen with you, cold,
are silent

---

beautiful :-)

alf...there is still no bleedin snow, just a smattering last week which didn't lie so no snowy run for me this year yet...!

Today, amid the gloom and cold
When skies are grey and things look old,
Just look beyond the gate and fields
And you will see what distance yields;
In landscape form and hills for miles,
The sleeping spring awaits and smiles
Of sunshine beams and glorious days
And blue-belled woods in colour-blaze,
Patience, my friend, is nature's pride
As February turns the season's tide!

Liked this found it in the Ripon Gazette today

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Masham Man

Today, amid the gloom and cold
When skies are grey and things look old,
Just look beyond the gate and fields
And you will see what distance yields;
In landscape form and hills for miles,
The sleeping spring awaits and smiles
Of sunshine beams and glorious days
And blue-belled woods in colour-blaze,
Patience, my friend, is nature's pride
As February turns the season's tide!

Liked this found it in the Ripon Gazette today

---

a lovely hopeful poem MM very cheering :-)

What is love without memory ;-)

Valentine ode to the temporal lobes

The interlacing of moments, images and associations
Coupled with a hefty dose of oxytocin
Conjures my valentine with its invisible yarn
Joining two well oiled limbic systems
Into a fabric more unfathomable by far.
And so I would like to proclaim a debt of thanks
To these four repositories of history
For in their absence our love
Might indeed remain a mystery!

Last week was the annual rendition of this William Henry Davies..

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

That's lovely and from the Ripon Gazette too, who'd have thought it!:)

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Masham Man

Today, amid the gloom and cold
When skies are grey and things look old,
Just look beyond the gate and fields
And you will see what distance yields;
In landscape form and hills for miles,
The sleeping spring awaits and smiles
Of sunshine beams and glorious days
And blue-belled woods in colour-blaze,
Patience, my friend, is nature's pride
As February turns the season's tide!

Liked this found it in the Ripon Gazette today

---

One of my all time favourites Dom and I think of it every time I struggle my way to the top of a steep ascent and use the view as an excuse to have a rest!:)

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by dominion

Last week was the annual rendition of this William Henry Davies..

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

---

Oh I really like this Freckle! Especially the last few lines and I love the title. :thumbup: its really good to see you writing again, I tried very briefly the other day but it was pretty awful.xx

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

What is love without memory ;-)

Valentine ode to the temporal lobes

The interlacing of moments, images and associations
Coupled with a hefty dose of oxytocin
Conjures my valentine with its invisible yarn
Joining two well oiled limbic systems
Into a fabric more unfathomable by far.
And so I would like to proclaim a debt of thanks
To these four repositories of history
For in their absence our love
Might indeed remain a mystery!

---

Yikes! Tomorrow's that DAY!!!! Deep intake of breath. Muster restrained expectations, to stem highly probable, impending, crushing disappointment that the door mat might not have just one of those little envelops patiently waiting on it just for you!! There's no fool like an ol'fool :o

Anyway, it takes two to tango (and a host of other cliches) so anyone lost for poetic inspiration could do a lot worse than reflect on Robbie's devine delight...

O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That’s sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee well, my only Luve
And fare thee well, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

What is love without memory ;-)

Valentine ode to the temporal lobes

The interlacing of moments, images and associations
Coupled with a hefty dose of oxytocin
Conjures my valentine with its invisible yarn
Joining two well oiled limbic systems
Into a fabric more unfathomable by far.
And so I would like to proclaim a debt of thanks
To these four repositories of history
For in their absence our love
Might indeed remain a mystery!

---

Hey Away!!! Not only is that sooooooo wonderfully original, but it's laced with such a beautiful romantic melancholy tone too. You deserve the biggest hug Frecks x

Aye it's grand that. I'm going to give my limbic system a good oiling tonight.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Grouse

Aye it's grand that. I'm going to give my limbic system a good oiling tonight.

---

Don't let Margarine catch you http://i592.photobucket.com/albums/t...ebit/shock.gif

I'm going to give my hippocampus a dam good going over with an oily rag:w00t:

Shake the hands of doubt, Im coming home,
Leave the maps unwound...... The soul knows..... who needs a road,
Im coming home Hey! The soul knows... Hey! Who needs a road?
If I step outside then no one will know I'm not hear to hide, I'm here to grow,
Take a little step back now, take a little step...... Don't let it slide...
Don't look to the ground, look to the sky,
The soul knows....Who needs a road!

(signpostsound)

Me and the Today's poet thread :D

Meeting at Night

The grey sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.

Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match,
And a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears,
Than the two hearts beating each to each!

Robert Browning

I wish I could remember that first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May.
If only I could recollect it, such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seem'd to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand--Did one but know!

Christina Georgina Rossetti

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Alf

I wish I could remember that first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May.
If only I could recollect it, such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seem'd to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand--Did one but know!

Christina Georgina Rossetti

---

This is a nice choice alf, bringing into focus the paradox of love's relation in time, seeming to be within and without it....

I also enjoyed Fleeters recent post...thanks to Mossy and Hes for your appreciation of my poem...:-)...I do try, currently trying my hand at prose but getting nowhere fast and distracted by research into the likes of Freud and Levi Strauss (not the jeans!) :-)

Variations on the Word Sleep
By Margaret Atwood

I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.

Ode to Ink

There has to be a heart in a book
and a heart's ink,
not just curdled anxieties.
My shadow's shadow,
grave work,
sparrow nest I've tipped from a tree.
Dance was right: hell ought to be designed.
Some write in electronic ice.
Some with webs,
some with thistle down.
Generally, I'm in another precinct.
It spots my pillows, my blouses.
I've snagged my fingertips through ink's thorns,
and if I get to you
and you're still asleep
I won't kiss you by halves.
For once I won't think.

Lee Upton

I Carry Your Heart with Me
by E.E.Cummings

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in
my heart) I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)

I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)