but the other <br />day i was passing a certain <br />gate rain <br />fell as it will <br /> <br /> <br />in spring <br />ropes <br />of silver gliding from sunny <br />thunder into freshness <br /> <br /> <br />as if god's flowers were <br />pulling upon bells of <br />gold i looked <br />up <br /> <br /> <br />and <br />thought to myself death <br />and will You with <br />elaborate fingers possibly touch <br /> <br /> <br />the pink hollyhock existence whose <br />pansy eyes look from morning till <br />night into the street <br />unchangingly the always <br /> <br /> <br />old lady sitting in her <br />gentle window like <br />a reminiscence <br />partaken <br /> <br /> <br />softly at whose gate smile <br />always the chosen <br />flowers of reminding<br /><br />Edward Estlin Cummings<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/but-the-other/
