Eden

I wandered long on grassy ground
where sun and shade were intertwined
like languid lovers passing by
and wisps of cloud fretted the sky.
The rain came down, I paid no mind
and sang the sussurus of sound;
of drops tap-tap on grass and skin.
The wind arrived and brushed my face
as if in greeting an old friend,
a stroke, caress, and then an end.
I had no care of any place,
no bag to keep my treasures in.

A serpent came, a flash of green,
an outstretched hand with poison fruit.
In the soft whisper of a scale
from silky head or oily tail
I ruined my pleasures to the root.
My languid days were no more seen;
instead hard dirt and harder stone
where shade was scarce and sun beat down,
where rain would wash away my toil:
my food coaxed out of stubborn soil.
The bitter wind I showed my frown,
the bitter cold I gave my groan.

And yet there's hope, and fertile land,
Two pouting lips, a stubborn glance
made beautiful by rock and fire;
There's passion now, and there's desire.
Midst summer's spear and winter's lance
I comfort in my red right hand
and hers against my fingertips.
I was a child, that knew no pain
but hurt upon the tongue is sour
and makes far sweeter every hour:
Ah, do not ask me to explain
the taste of gladness on my lips!