Classic poem of the day
Weep balm and myrrh, you sweet Arabian trees,
With purest gems perfume and pearl your rine;
Shed on your honey drops, you busy bees.
I, barren plant, must weep unpleasant brine.
Hornets I hive, salt drops their labour plies
Sucked out of sin and shed by show'ring eyes.
With easy loss sharp wrecks did he eschew
That sindonless aside did naked slip:
Once naked Grace no outward garment knew;
Rich are his robes, whom sin did never strip,
......
Member poem of the day
Vigil
The woman climbs into bed with her sleeping husband,
as she’s done thousands of times, though never in a bed
seven stories above streets dusted with ice crystals and cinders.
Sounds of the unit at night: beeps, the rustle of sheets,
a fan dispersing heat evenly in the room.
We can’t know what dreams infuse the woman’s sleep.
When dawn comes, she may give no thought to the empty house,
miles from here, where they raise...
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