When my eyes are weeds, <br />And my lips are petals, spinning <br />Down the wind that has beginning <br />Where the crumpled beeches start <br />In a fringe of salty reeds; <br />When my arms are elder-bushes, <br />And the rangy lilac pushes <br />Upward, upward through my heart; <br /> <br />Summer, do your worst! <br />Light your tinsel moon, and call on <br />Your performing stars to fall on <br />Headlong through your paper sky; <br />Nevermore shall I be cursed <br />By a flushed and amorous slattern, <br />With her dusty laces' pattern <br />Trailing, as she straggles by.<br /><br />Dorothy Parker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/august-2/
