You were a carrot seed
the rabbits planted.
I lived on a tiny planet
melting in a spoon.
When you were a donut
powdered with stars,
I was a cup of coffee,
served black.
[more]
I got work selling
trees door-to-door. You
turned into a horse,
galloping along the shore.
Soon, I was a storm and
you were an old lady,
asleep in your chair.
I pelted your roof,
knocked your tulips flat.
So you’d know it was me
even when it wasn’t.
Other work by Philip Brooks can be googled up on the internets, but beware: he is not Phillips Brooks, famous clergyman and poet, long dead. This poem is for his lovely wife, Balinda.
Awsome poem.....I think the poet will become a classic of our generation.
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