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
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