|Potted Flowers with Books IV|
Not weaned yet, without comprehension loving,
We feed at breasts of love; like a still cat
That wears and loves the fire in peace, till moving
She slips off fire and love, to cross the mat
As new as birth; so by default denying
House-roof and human friends that come and go,
The landscape of life's dreams. Antelopes flying
Over his wild earth serve the lion so.
We are blind children who answer with love
A warmth and sweetness. Those even we love most
We sleep within their lives like cats, and rove
Out in the night, and late return and coast
Their souls like furniture. Oh, life should give
Light till we understand they live, they live.
(9th April 1907 - 19th October 1999)