Meditations on a Summer Morning
Athelas is sweeter than any herb’s scent
crushed and steeped, its vapours recalling white wind,
Fair Lebennin’s flowers in bloom, the wine-dark
waves of the Great Sea—
Sweeter still my lover, recalling my joy,
lips upon her lips as we kiss away our
welawoes. I think on our youth, the nights spent
laughing till sunrise.
Playfully, my fingers are tracing dark lines,
following the curve of a lambë; love’s brand.
Breathing in the scent of her curls, my eyes close,
finally at ease.
