Only I Know
Are you the paramour who's plain, my Elkhorn?
Are you dressed in earthen colors nearly all the day,
Without such charms as falls or rapids? Do you rarely
Rise up from the ditch those single-minded pioneers
Determined you should run? Are you, in other words,
No pristine Rocky Mountain mistress, flinging spray
And begging to be fished? I must concede that you
Are not,... and, yet, as evening arrives, you sparkle
With such elegance that upland harlots can't outshine
You, and yours truly, your one lover, finds you far
From plain.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck

Read 55 times
Written on 2022-04-27 at 01:15




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