By a Pond

When the Holy Brush paints the sky
In milky hues, ere twume does blow:
On this grand stage shall be set
The tragedy of untimely Death,
Somberly peace and quiet grow;
Like a great vault is Nature set:

A marble ceiling now endlessly high,
A snowy canvass for the wilted trees,
No breathe of wind, no gentle wave,
No ripples of teardrops seen;
All is hushed within the grave:
The end we shall ride to meet:
A plain, a still lake, cold and bleak

July 7th – 13th, 2002

This entry was posted in Other.

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