Roving back through wild centuries
At rust and ripeness time
To land blood wet, martyrs fed,
A water melon still conceives
What alone bears peace-a sweetheart,
Summer’s blood, timber scent-
Each slice for life time sweet,
Munch you as you would grapes or kisses.
Her only hope, wish for nothing on earth
Save eternal be her internal love’s season,
ever juicing the embittered world.