E. E. Cummings

“though your sorrows not any tongue may name, three i’ll give you sweet joys for each of them But it must be your” whispers that flower

murmurs eager this “i will give you five hopes for any fear, but it Must be your” perfectly alive blossom of a bliss

“seven heavens for just one dying,i’ll give you” silently cries the(whom we call rose a)mystery “but it must be Your”