I am the blossom pressed in a book,
found again after two hundred years. . . .
I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper. . . .
...
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I am the one whose love overcomes you, already with you when you think to call my name.. - ITALIAN: Io sono quella il cui amore ti sopraffà, sono già con te quando ti sovviene di pronunciare il mio nome..
There is so much grace in this poem, that it nearly flys away...
I enjoyed this poem, oh special one, a 200 year old pressed blossom, the surprise at the party that makes the party swing or the missing colour from the cotten box without which we cannot finish the dress. Ruthie: o)
Stunning, stunning imagry! Eloquent, expressive commentary I never tire from reading Jane Kenyon...She is a metaphor for pastoral pain and pleasure