Speak not when this pale shallow glass
Shall fall in broken shale upon the floor,
Scattering winsome Laughter as Seasons pass,
Whispering in Retrospect, More and More.
Like Fallen Roses in the Burgeoning Rush of May,
When Petals Glisten and Drop in Heavy Balm,
This Passion, Once Remembered, forgets to Play,
And Now sits brooding, Silent in the Broken Calm.
Transparent and Untended 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.

~Morgan~

.
.
.
Beautiful Original Artwork by: Anne Stokes