Among The Ruins Poem by Joshua Bosworth

From The Fountainhead there comes forth water
Guided by its stone gray spotter
Times are fair and the stream in air
Possesses beauty oh so rare

But, “Times is swift”, as said the sage
“and so it ends, this golden age.”
The basin falls into neglect
The glorious city derelict
With savage barbarians ever near
The head cares not who should drink here.

The people, people, people change
A fountain on a cattle range
Still delivers pure and sweet
Its burden from a marble seat.
Selfish beauty ever brought
From the slopes where men have fought.

And now the hour’s once more at hand
When through the work of scrub and sand
The fountain head once more glows bright
Still giving truth to man's delight
More beautiful than first was wrought
As water flows, the head cares not.

For beauty unto it, you see
Is found in funtionality
In loalty unto it's form,
In not conforming to the norm
It's beauty stems from good and right,
and giving truth all through the night.