Silent Beauty

She sat all quiet on the grass: A leaf of autumn trapped in ice Too long before it could amass What spring could never give it twice. She sat there every morning while The stream of her old beauty flowed Like a lithe barge along the ancient Nile, While her warm presence shyly glowed. She was the last rose of her kind, Whose fragrance dwindled and would die; The world would turn and try to find Some other gem and barely sigh. For many she was naught, though I, Within my heart of hearts, knew well That life would turn into a lie When time would sing her parting knell. When pearls like her are lost and fade, The world is stained by an eclipse When tears must fall upon the blade Of edicts voiced by lurid lips. Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com