where the wind lieth where the wind dieth

the poem of my life.

Come lie with me and be my love  
Love lie with me  
Lie down with me  
Under the cypress tree  
In the sweet grasses  
Where the wind lieth  
Where the wind dieth  
As night passes  
Come lie with me  
All night with me  
And have enough of kissing me  
And have enough of making love  
And let our two selves speak  
All night under the cypress tree  
Without making love

by fabulous lawrence ferlinghetti. 

i am impatiently waiting for my american lit class to come to the beat poets. ah, to be separate from one's soul generation. my heart aches for late 1950s, early 1960s