..
this poem is
that red, red rose
that summer’s day
the craving of mouth, voice, hair
………….(silent and staring)
those cloudless climes and starry skies
…………………….(dying, disappearing.)
more thicker than forget,
it’s counting the ways
those moments of glad grace.
sung moonstruck and kissed insane,
it’s root of root and bud of bud and
……..sky of sky.
it’s those stolen plums
{which you were probably saving}.
..
With gratitude and obvious credit to Burns, Cummings, Yeats, Neruda, Browning, Auden, Williams, Byron, Shakespeare and Plath.
{in april, we poem.}
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
this is beautiful. i love the pauses through periods!