Speechless

door

If I were to speak plainly
Would the simplicity feel undone?
Do I hide behind flowered words?
Or is that where I breathe?

I pick up the discarded cloaks
And robes that never make the bin,
Arrange them into bouquets
To deliver when I see fit.

But when you knocked on my door
And caught me unaware, I was speechless.
Not ready to receive a visitor without
My blanket of words.

-S. S. Hicks

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