A lovely little poem from Robert Frost. A gentle reminder of how precious tenderness can be...
Moon Compass
I stole forth dimly in the dripping pause
Between two downpours to see what there was.
And a masked moon had spread down compass rays
To a cone mountain in the midnight haze,
As if the final estimate were hers;
And as it measured in her calipers,
The mountain stood exalted in its place.
So love will take between the hands a face...
Friday, July 9, 2010
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