To All Soupers (And a Friend: Christina Brown)

I came to a garden naked and bruised To drink of the fragrance and sleep In the wine of forgetfulness. Enthused The flowers their sweet petals reap To cover my sores, and restore me whole Some bathe me in words, some sang Me lullabies, some fed me for my soul A healing soup that tempered wrong. And shall I name them, or name one Shall I a spectrum from the light take Shall I wound the glory of the sun In this tribute that to poetrysoup I make It is best sufficient if you all accept this Nameless with each name written in light That I savored here, and know the bliss The eagle never felt in tumulting flight Christina, were I to give them all a name Were I to carve upon the beauty of a page Then your face make the garland of fame And your song for my desire a fitting wage.