Levitation above the Arbor’s Lawn
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Some petals send no scent that human nose
Can sense. These flowers have no fragrance for
The person passing by. Smells dispose
Themselves in Easters. On the air they score
A wing-like loveliness unseen, like flights
Of angels, yet these pinions would be still
Except the gentlest of breeze brings heights
Of seraphim enough to overfill
A meditating monk. When there is no
Perfume, the contemplator has to peer
Like saints upon the form that flowers grow.
Mind wills to hover in a spirit sphere.
Thought disappears as in a realm of calm,
Religion not requiring prayer or psalm.
~ Phillip Whidden