summer may be beautiful. But,
tell me with eyes quiteshut
did you love me, will you love me
and perfectly so forth; I see,
kissing you—only kissing
you (it is still spring
and summer may be beautiful) shall we
say years? O let us say it, girl
to boy smiling while the moments kill
us gently and infinitely.
And believe (do not believe) there’ll
be a time when even these leaves will
crawl expensively away. My lady.
by E.E. Cummings.
Wonderful. Thank you!
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