Love In A Chosen Scene

 

The mistress is a large breeze in her own house,

a wifely flutter of dogwood underneath the oak,

 

her help is a tiny wren who does little

in enormous and assertive voice,

gets sent shooing before the dinner’s done.

 

All is flap and flimsy for the evening meal,

and the master and mistress live on laughter

open doors and storms which bang

the blossoms to the floor.

 

Suns weep into the mountains of going down

leave them astir till midnight, wrung in love,

blind to any hardship that might be

 

if mistress were not a large breeze in her own house,

the master a large oak who walks in at night.

 

just a word-