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The way of a man with a maid, Solomon said, Too much for him to understand Too much. A snake crawling on a rock, A ship moving across the waves The motionless soaring of an eagle Too much to understand. I have come to grips with a snake's scaly progress, undulating, cupping, twisting, hugging, movement upon a rock. I can nearly sense a ship's purposeful meanderings on pathless seas, driven by compass-aimed sails and the science of sextants and stars. I have accepted the Bernoulli Principle: air currents rushing under and meandering over curved and feathered wings producing lift, defying gravity. But still I cannot grasp the way of a man with a maid. Though I have studied oxytocin, endorphins, hormonal urges, a man and a maid who walk through life past beauty and prime, surviving the vagaries of time, seeing in each other their youth long spent, still straight and tall in the other's mind, though old and bent... must always bring me wondering, to a stop. Such things, the Wise One said, Are far too wonderful for me. Long live love.
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Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 7:53 AM UTC
Too Much For Me
The way of a man with a maid, Solomon said, Too much for him to understand Too much. A snake crawling on a rock, A ship moving across the waves The motionless soaring of an eagle Too much to understand. I have come to grips with a snake's scaly progress, undulating, cupping, twisting, hugging, movement upon a rock. I can nearly sense a ship's purposeful meanderings on pathless seas, driven by compass-aimed sails and the science of sextants and stars. I have accepted the Bernoulli Principle: air currents rushing under and meandering over curved and feathered wings producing lift, defying gravity. But still I cannot grasp the way of a man with a maid. Though I have studied oxytocin, endorphins, hormonal urges, a man and a maid who walk through life past beauty and prime, surviving the vagaries of time, seeing in each other their youth long spent, still straight and tall in the other's mind, though old and bent... must always bring me wondering, to a stop. Such things, the Wise One said, Are far too wonderful for me. Long live love.
don-bouchard
Written by
66/M/American
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 7:53 AM UTC
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