Tumbling

Tumble, words, like couples in the woods.
Please her at each touch,
And yet be free to look upon the sky.
Or at the pigeons starting from the trees
As we pass by.
Kiss her warmly on the cheek
And on the breast, my words.
And while she whispers me
Into the deep wood,
Turn smiling from her and run
Eager fingers through the warm
Places of the Earth’s Soul.

Copyright ©2001 Tony Crisp