Memories of Our Unholiday

Where else could we worship
but in chapels of rippling redwood
heaven bound shafts, quiescent lifting
our unquenchable praise of awe?

Which bed could we lie in
if less than drowned in daisies
where, curled dappled and dreamless
we're caressed in speckled sunlight?

What fills our eyes till streaming
only the shock of hot azalea
in siren sprawled abandon, drains
our breath to muffled moans?

What sweeter taste could taunt us
tart tickles tongues and noses
than the lick of lime smothered fishes
still dreaming of far foamy seas?

Who could feed my feline fancies
stroke, soothe my purring fever
less you take my hand in your hand
plunder Earth, rob Time of its store?