The lilacs wither in the Carolinas.
Already the butterflies flutter above the cabins.
Already the new-born children interpret love
In the voices of mothers.
Timeless mothers,
How is it that your aspic nipples
For once vent honey?
The pine-tree sweetens my body
The white iris beautifies me.
(Wallace Stevens)
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Based on Topics: Mothers Poems, Butterflies PoemsBased on Keywords: beautifies, carolinas, aspic