Slow Smoke/Trailing Arbutus

by Lew Sarett

TRAILING ARBUTUS

I found a wild arbutus in the dell,The first-born blossom from the womb of Spring;The bud, unfurling, held me in a spellWith its hesitant awakening.

Fragrant its petals, pink and undefiledAs the palm of one new-born, or its finger-tips;Delicate as the song of a little child,And sweet as the breath between its lips.

Something in shy arbutus wet with dewLays hold of me, something I do not know,—Unless among these blossoms once I knewA little boy, oh, long ago.