Why are your eyes like dry brown flower-pods, Still, gripped by the memory of lost petals? I feel that, if I touched them, They would crumble to falling brown dust, And you would stand with blindness revealed. Yet you would not shrink, for your life Has been long since memorized, And eyes would only melt out against its high walls. Besides, in the making of boxes Sprinkled with crude forget-me-nots, One is curiously blessed if one's eyes are dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HILL ABOVE THE MINE by MALCOLM COWLEY ON GOING UNNOTICED by ROBERT FROST INDEPENDENCE DAY, 1956, A FAIRY TALE by JAMES GALVIN THE SACRAL DREAMS OF RAMON FERNANDEZ by JAMES GALVIN BENEDICTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DESPAIR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON I WANT TO LIVE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO ATLANTA UNIVERSITY - ITS FOUNDERS AND TEACHERS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |