a flower rare and delicate he seemed,
and yet a tree.
a gentle fragrant breeze, and yet
the wind.
to imagine him in any city
didn't seem to fit and yet he
wore the scars of many battles there.
a soul as soft as pillows made of
finest eider down.
a mind as crisp as any
winter morn.
he seemed a kindred melody,
i almost knew the words.
tho i'd never heard them, i could sing along.
a blatant understatement, with a sense of
the absurd.
a paradox within a paradigm.
a softly spoken bit of prose
or poetry is he
yet he never quite discloses how he feels.
moon batchelder
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-flower-rare/
