cummings

I love e e cummings. This poem is one of his lesser known ones, but I love it for its beautiful imagery.

if a cheerfulest Elephantangelchild

if a cheerfulest Elephantangelchild should sit
(holding a red candle over his head
by a finger of trunk, and singing out of a red

book) on a proud round cloud in a white high night

where his heartlike ears have flown adorable him
self tail and all (and his tail's red christmas bow)
--and if, when we meet again, little he (having flown
even higher) is sunning his penguinsoul in the glow

of a joy which wasn't and isn't and won't be words

while possibly not (at a guess) quite half way down
to the earth are leapandswooping tinily birds
whose magical gaiety makes your beautiful name---

i feel that (false and true are merely to know)
Love only has ever been, is, and will ever be, So

-e.e. cummings