BREAD

Dear and Unknown, So you shower white porcelain with roses for me, Red roses, white roses, roses of rose, Clipping their stems, Spreading them out in the bowl Till the green leaves net the white water with silver, Glisten with light, Stir with the stir of their pattern of leaves, With the breath of their draught of cool water, With the bloom of rose petals crisp in the peace of white water, Safe in the shadow of night, Tasting the gift of new life.

Once beauty was bread unto me. But now I am gone, rob none for my bread. God gave me a soul no rose, red or white, ever equalled. Did God give me love? What doubling of petals has ever brought grief? What leaf? In what garden is life crushed always to dreams? Oh, now, what are roses to me, Red roses, white roses and roses of rose? Does God give the roses a soul for their flight? What petals blow on this journey I go?

Dear, my Unknown, Put no rose to my lips cold in this porcelain bowl of myself! Roses, red roses, white roses, roses of rose, Once bread unto me; Rain them on pulses that beat, Toss them to hands which are quick to their bloom; Give them, I beg you, to one who can see; Feed them, I pray you,— Roses, red roses, white roses, roses of rose,— To men who still hunger for bread!