Esprit
T Tom Billsborough
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What is this word, esprit?
Your smile reflected in a pool
As minnows dart like small electric lights,
Your voice soft and subtle
As it enters like a butterfly
each membrane of my soul.
A girl of many sounds and faces
Is the word esprit.
I try to catch its meaning
Like these elusive creatures
But it is in their natures
Never to be still.
One could call it joy
But that will not suffice
To clothe its eloquence.
Spirit, in a sense,
But closer to infinity,
A bird of paradise
In all its preening mystery.
Bu şiiri puanla
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