our village (37)

I’ve just got to tell you. I always do, but this time, I mean … listen. Mr. Bellis just this morning, April 4 – fourth day of National Poetry Month, y’know – he gave me this poem, this poem by William Blake, the fellow we were talking about yesterday, the fellow who saw God. Now listen:

“The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,
The humble sheep a threat’ning horn:
While the Lily white shall in love delight,
Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.”

“The Lily”! The poem is called “The Lily.” Now come on.   This cannot be a coincidence. The “Lily white” – look here, I made him give me this copy – the “Lily white” is Lilly-Anne, of course, as sure as I’m Marquetta Mason. I mean, come on!

So I told you he’s bein’ sweet to all the girls with his gifts of poems, but what do you make of this business with “Lily” and “love” and “beauty bright”? That sure sounds like love to me, adoration, worship maybe even. What do you think? Is he confessing his love for Lilly-Anne to me, or is he saying what I’m saying, that our little Lilly-Anne is holy enough to be worshipped, holy enough to bear the next savior? Good Lord, save us. I have to talk to Mr. Bellis about this.

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