if there are any heavens my mother will(all by herself)have
one.   It will not be a pansy heaven nor
a fragile heaven of lilies-of-the-valley but
it will be a heaven of blackred roses
 
my father will be(deep like a rose
tall like a rose)
 
standing near my
 
swaying over her
(silent)
with eyes which are really petals and see
 
nothing with the face of a poet really which
is a flower and not a face with
hands
which whisper
This is my beloved my
 
        (suddenly in sunlight
 
he will bow,
 
&the whole garden will bow)

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Robert L. Martin
quasi 4 anni

Very passionate poem. Well done.

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Y. J. Hall Robyn Bocks
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