Two tin pots that boil at their brims
Flare up, free in a confluence of careful
Genetic coincidence.
The X and Y do not ask why
This attraction lies in magnets
Made from the same
Mortal magma. Nor will I ever.
Or two quarks perhaps, two
Parts caught in one
Quartz incredibly crystallized.
Unbreakable fizzing fission,
Fusion unmeldable,
A star sat in a star, a sun
Within a sun and one
Shall the other swallow up,
As primroses pop out in green
Grass in purple spring.
Sing, sing, sing a verse and a verse,
Then a chorus sweet divine harmony.
My honeyed loves, my peace, my doves of life,
My wife and me know our melodies’ refrain,
So, so, so lucky, we can smile
And sing again and again.
So son me no sons oh Lord,
For they would be out shone
Outdone divine,
By my twin daughters.