Rain on Leaves. Scone Palace.
Hullo ma wee blog,
The poem for this Sunday is;
Sure Proof.
I can no more describe you
than I can put a thing for the first time
where it already is.
If I could make a ladder of light
or comb the hair of a dream girl with a real comb
or pour a table into a jug...
I'm not good at impossible things
And that is why I'm sure
I will love you for my ever.
Norman MacCaig. 1968
3 comments:
This poem itself is sure proof indeed. And what woman wouldn't melt upon hearing it whispered?
Sigh...
Sometimes there is a perfect match of word to emotion and for me this is one.
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