Saturday, May 7, 2011

Set in Stone



I did but see her passing by
And yet her sweetness caught my eye.
Forever she will rise from greenery,
Adding interest to the scenery.
Forever she will hold her urn
Containing the feathers of a fern.
Forever she'll be the leaves among,
Ever innocent, ever young.
But was she, once, a living maid,
A little nervous and afraid
Posing for an artist's eye,
And did he tell her 'Don't be shy.'?
What was her name, how old was she,
The girl with the fragility?
Maybe she married and grew fat;
Maybe not worth looking at.
This statue, alabaster-pale,
Could, if it wanted to, tell a tale.



Picture yourself, a book in hand,
(Something light, you understand),
Finding this pathway in the shade,
Rambling through a leafy glade.
Hear the birdsong in the air;
See butterflies flitting everywhere;
Feel a breeze upon your face;
Forget that tiresome human race!
An old stone wall has met your eye;
You simply cannot pass it by.
Rest upon it; take your ease;
Hear the hum of passing bees.
Open up your book and read!
A joyous afternoon indeed!

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