e.e. cummings

it may not always be so;and i say

that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch

another's,and your dear strong fingers clutch

his heart,as mine in time not far away;

if on another's face your sweet hair lay

in such a silence as i know,or such

great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,

stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

 

if this should be,i say if this should be- 

you of my heart,send me a little word;

that i may go unto him,and take his hands,

saying,Accept all happiness from me.

Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird

sing terribly afar in the lost lands. 

 

As one of my 'teenage' poems, I'm sure this will be more familiar than those I have posted previously. It is interesting to me how there is a pattern emerging in the love poems I seem to be selecting with their final honest lines.

There were a number of favourite cummings poems I could have chosen, but the one that would have run this choice the closest is my father moved through dooms of love.