By E.E. Cummings
if there are any heavens my mother will (all by herself) have
one. It will not be a pansy heaven nor a fragile heaven of lilies-of-the-valley but it will be a heaven of black red roses
my father will be(deep like a rose tall like a rose) standing near my (swaying over her silent) with eyes which are really petals and see nothing with the face of a poet really which is a flower and not a face with hands which whisper This is my beloved my (suddenly in sunlight he will bow, & the whole garden will bow)