a love poem for Ethel Mortenson Davis by Thomas Davis
In the stone fields
The roots of the pinyon
Interweave with stone.
In the barest silence
Song is worn like a cloak
Of the brightest colors.
May my lips be as a brook
Bubbling forth songs
In praise of my love.
May my heart be as a pinyon,
Drawing forth music
From the barest stones
Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis
by Thomas Davis
I shall put upon your shoulders
The cloak of the hills,
And at your feet I shall put the mountains
Clothed with the light of early dawn.
With joy I will gather up the blue waters
From the nestling lakes of the valleys
And turn the blue waters into gems,
Rare and beautiful, for you to wear.
Filed under Poetry, Thomas Davis
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