Speak not when this pale shallow glass
Shall fall in mute shale upon the floor,
Scattering winsome Laughter as Seasons pass,
Whispering in Retrospect, now More and More.
Like Fallen Roses in the Rush of May,
When Petals Glisten in Heavy Balm,
This Passion, Once Remembered, forgets to Play,
And Now sits brooding; Silent, not Calm.
Transparent in the Willow-ribbon haze,
This Mirror of True Love, now Tarnished Lies,
Reflecting Naught but my Own Shifting Gaze,
While Memory Above the Void, Unraveled, Flies.
Now as the Darkness Seeps and Sinks Around,
My Yearning Heart Strains to Hear Your Songs Sweet Sound.
Beautiful Original Artwork by: Anne Stokes