Letters from some Friends # 8.


"I don’t expect to touch the sky
with my two hands . . ."

Ah, so you like fragments?
A song barely started? ||

No? Then you listen for the sweet singing,
of a long since silent lyre!
|A rare talent |


Museful thoughts to be updated?
Your Hubble vision finds skies
beyond reach, beyond need for
touching.| |


Apparently Gods no longer enjoy
their distance.
Thunder-wrecking incubus
occur without them.

Yet I see the golden browed Aphrodite comes|


|First to those|
wearing garlands, Warrior
and Pacifist alike ||


Hands gentled
Youth returned, all with garlands
My loves unspoiled ||universal

L. Fullington

If you've any comments on this poem, L. Fullington would be pleased to hear from you.