A Poet To His Beloved

All the praises you pick along the streets Go confirm before a new-bought mirror, And if those rare glories you all find true Then know she’s near that beauty shearer. Who’s time, the unerring author of loss and decay. And so while you wait for she who must deprive Learn your immortal splendor to wisely salt away In shrewd acts that the lay waste of time survive. Reincarnate in yourself some elegant luster To represent you in the ageless posterity, And water with care the shoots that germinate In the fecund garden of your youthful fertility. The sagacious mother leaving nothing to chance, Invest in an eternity of prayer, for if bootless There’s nothing of yours to lose to time-owned eons, For this enterprise outlives all, and gives all for less. With these desiderata carefully appropriated, Now your chance to savor the trappings of luck and time With vast unapologetic bites and greedy careless teeth Till the bells of the end give their long-awaited chime.