here's to opening and upward, to leaf and to sap <br />and to your(in my arms flowering so new) <br />self whose eyes smell of the sound of rain <br /> <br />and here's to silent certainly mountains;and to <br />a disappearing poet of always,snow <br />and to morning;and to morning's beautiful friend <br />twilight(and a first dream called ocean)and <br /> <br />let must or if be damned with whomever's afraid <br />down with ought with because with every brain <br />which thinks it thinks,nor dares to feel(but up <br />with joy;and up with laughing and drunkenness) <br /> <br />here's to one undiscoverable guess <br />of whose mad skill each world of blood is made <br />(whose fatal songs are moving in the moon<br /><br />Edward Estlin Cummings<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/here-s-to-opening-and-upward/
