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PERCIVAL GIBBON.
3
MIMOSA.
The bloom of the mimosa
Between your lips and me,
Withholds you like a lattice
Of golden filigree.
The thorns of the mimosa,
Between your breast and me,
Are like the blades of vengeance
That guard the Eden tree.
The breach in the mimosa,
That gives your lips to me,
Is like the breath of blessing
That sets the spirit free.
The scent of the mimosa,
That rains on you and me,
Is like a dear remembrance
Of bliss that used to be.
Perceval Gibbon.
