Blessing the Cup

By Tom Merrill

      
 
 While morning yet was rose,
 not thorn,
 earth glistening
 as if newly born,
 I came across
 a romance here:
 he hadn't seen
 the shadows clear,
 nor seemed
 to be at all aware;
 she watched,
 and was content to stare.
  
 I thought of how a love began,
 of Eden, too,
 the dawn of man
 and how that garden
 turned to grief;
 of sorrow
 borne without relief;
 and yet,
 I did not fail to bless
 the tainted cup of happiness,
 nor reverently to tiptoe by
 this sleeper in the flower's eye.
   

Poems by Tom Merrill have recently appeared in two novels as epigraphs.He is Poet in Residuum at The Hypertexts and Advisory Editor at Better Than Starbucks.

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