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Monday, February 24, 2014

A Child at the Tropic Pavilions



A CHILD AT THE TROPIC PAVILIONS


The smolderings of Pele’s hair
    Are her delight, with fires
Of eucalyptus in the rain
    And coral’s glowing spires.

A  braided crown of palm adorns
    Her buoyant curls, and leis
Of frangipani scent her throat:
    She has no need of praise,

For sea’s auroral whisperings
    Aren’t secrets to her ear--
Her counselors with gaudy wings
    Suddenly appear

To sing of castles made of sand
    And childish dignity
That takes the throne in Chinese silk,
    With parrots on each knee.


                        for Rebecca Beatrice Miller

6 comments:

  1. Glad you came by, Maja-Leena, and thank you.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Exotic. Erotic. Or something else . . .

    BTW . . . my blog has be reinvented, renamed, and redirect . . .

    And . . . more importantly . . . I hope all is well -- good health and good weather.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Hi Tim--

    I'm fairly minimal today as I'm trying to get healthy (can't expect good weather.) Shall drop by...

    ReplyDelete
  4. And here we are again, with another Mercer University Press book on the way! (-;

    ReplyDelete
  5. "Sublime collaboration," as Midori said! Whee!

    ReplyDelete

Alas, I must once again remind large numbers of Chinese salesmen and other worldwide peddlers that if they fall into the Gulf of Spam, they will be eaten by roaming Balrogs. The rest of you, lovers of grace, poetry, and horses (nod to Yeats--you do not have to be fond of horses), feel free to leave fascinating missives and curious arguments.