THE UNBORN DAUGHTER

The suns return and fall, the seasons rhyme.
She holds the mastery of a lunar beat.
To her the gift of loving is in time.

Blood is the map and will be paradigm;
arterial red the rope upon her feet,
the sun's return and fall, the seasons' rhyme.

No cannon or no bell may call to prime,
no tower's march upon the pool be sweet,
to her; the gift of loving is in time. 

Star in the blood that rings her only chime, 
keep in the amorous air, and let your heat,
the sun's, return and fall, the seasons rhyme.

All that is now ambivalence or mime
will stay the last necessity to cheat:
to her the gift of loving is, in time.

Still coral, tiger, and about to climb,
she is born by the slow agony of wheat:
the suns return and fall, the seasons rhyme:
to her the gift of loving is in time.