WHEN YOU COME TO THE WARM SOUTH WALL

of her mother's house,

look for her tall bent beauty

among the garden flowers.

You’ll know her - soft as butterfly

upon the waters.  Then look

away and murmur

"You are beautiful" and move on.

Though she'll not look up, still she may

hear.  Or hear or not, do no more.

For wings heal not by being cupped or clasped.

Do this, you only bruise the butterfly the more.

I know.  I who,

like a dane within the gosling fence,

- public domain-

could only tromp

and mangle.