The Poem

It has been occupying many a waking (and unwaking) moment of late. Brought to you by the fancifully perfect mind of E.E. Cummings.

it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch
another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart, as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know, or such
great writhing words, as uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be, i say if this should be-
you of my heart, send me a little word;
that i may go unto him, and take his hands,
saying, Accept all happiness from me.
Then i shall turn my face, and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.