By D’Angelo Hubbard
Poetry, Arlington County Detention Facility/Heard/OAR writing contest, October 2023
Come live with me and be my love
and we will all pleasures prove
that valleys, groves, hills and fields,
woods, or steepy mountain yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sings madrigals.
And I will thee beds of roses
and a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.
The trees are coming into leaf
like something almost being said
the recent buds relax and spread
their greenness is a kind of grief.
Is it that they are born again
and we grow old? No, the dictoo
their yearly trick of looking new
is written down in rings of grain.
Yet still the unresting castles thresh
in full grown thickness every May
last year is dead, they seem to say
begin afresh, afresh, afresh.
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