Pity him up to his waist in middle age, neither celibate nor pervert in ceramics, only ultimate with a finger caught in the clay cookie jar. Leading under the slatted moonlight of palm trees, opening, shutting, like a nervous venetian blind - he said shyly, "Have you ever done this before?" She said, "No," curling her toes expectantly into the sand. God sighed relief through his gray beard. I don't know what happened to him. But she went home, a smug pendulum of skirts, to inform her husband, who had angelic nightmares ever after, "Gabriel told me to." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RECESSIONAL by RUDYARD KIPLING THE RUSTIC LAD'S LAMENT IN THE TOWN by DAVID MACBETH MOIR TO THE LADY IN THE CHIMSETTE WITH BLACK BUTTONS by NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS A FAERY SONG, SUNG BY THE PEOPLE OF FAERY OVER DIARMUID by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS FULL-CIRCLE by MAXWELL ANDERSON CAPTAIN MORROW'S THANKSGIVING by LILLIE E. BARR |