‘Little kids,’ you call us
As we are at play.
You were little children
Just the other day.

Now to-morrow nears us,
Soon we too shall stand
Men and women rulers
Of the sea and land.

‘Little kids’ at play time:
But at home or school
Think about our future,
Make us fit to rule.

Guide us wisely onward—
Teach us what is true.
Though we are but kiddies
We are watching you!

Give us good examples!
While we are at play,
Often we are aping
What you do and say.

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Never seek to tell thy Love
Love that never told can be
For the gentle wind does move
Silently invisibly

I told my love I told my love
I told her all my heart
Trembling cold in ghastly fears
Ah she doth depart

Soon as she was gone from me
A traveller came by
Silently invisibly
He took her with a sigh

The gentle breeze with a whispered cry
Kisses the water it ripples in fun;
The radiant clouds in the western sky
Are purple and gold from the kiss of the sun;
a flame slips round a tree trunk nigh
To kiss with ardour another one;
And the willow, trailing low its leaves,
Returns to the river the kiss it receives.

Everything is plundered, betrayed, sold,
Death’s great black wing scrapes the air,
Misery gnaws to the bone.
Why then do we not despair?

By day, from the surrounding woods,
cherries blow summer into town;
at night the deep transparent skies
glitter with new galaxies.

And the miraculous comes so close
to the ruined, dirty houses –
something not known to anyone at all,
but wild in our breast for centuries.

God
pours light
into every cup,
quenching darkness.

The proudly pious
stuff their cups with parchment
and critique the taste of ink

while God pours light

and the trees lift their limbs
without worry of redemption,
every blossom a chalice.

Hafiz, seduce those withered souls
with words that wet their parched lips

as light
pours like rain
into every empty cup
set adrift on the Infinite Ocean.

Her clothes were almost off;
Outside, a curious tree
Beat a branch at the window
To see what it could see.

Perched on my enormous easy chair,
Half nude, she clasped her hands.
Her feet trembled on the floor,
As soft as they could be.

I watched as a ray of pale light,
Trapped in the tree outside,
Danced from her mouth
To her breast, like a fly on a flower.

I kissed her delicate ankles.
She had a soft, brusque laugh
That broke into shining crystals –
A pretty little laugh.

Her feet ducked under her chemise;
“Will you please stop it!…”
But I laughed at her cries –
I knew she really liked it.

Her eye trembled beneath my lips;
They closed at my touch.
Her head went back; she cried:
“Oh, really! That’s too much!

“My dear, I’m warning you…”
I stopped her protest with a kiss
And she laughed, low –
A laugh that wanted more than this…

Her clothes were almost off;
Outside, a curious tree
Beat a branch at the window
To see what it could see.

So much of poetry depends
on keeping legs crossed
at the right moment
but whether at my knee
or your neck
that is the question.

Don’t waste time
wondering when our paths
or legs will cross.
They won’t or if they do
it won’t be because
of a promise in a poem.