“How perfect for a picnic, love!”
Love, know how wrong you are—
A foreign malice lurks above
And blocks our daily star.
“Let’s spread our blanket on this beach!”
We shouldn’t leave the car.
“I’m dying for a pear, a peach!”
Look how the waves run by—
Look how they tumble out of reach,
And emulate the sky.
They speak of something—“Darling, won’t
You pass the apple-pie?”
They speak of something, but I don’t
Dare seek or test my doom
By wasting time in asking. “Want
Dessert, dear? Save some room!”
The gull’s the spirit of the dove
Who dives into ocean foam.