Like The Vistas Of A Swan Poem by Mark Heathcote

Morning vistas draw a line.
Crystalline beech trees create an avenue-
looking at the stars where a moon fades.
I see you standing there, angelic
heavenly as a white iceberg rose.

That need not climb nor swim the galaxies
that need not open stride a further step,
that need not further have use of an existence
to repose, her petals falling, close
like the vistas of a swan, surely nothing fades.

'Surely nothing won is ever really lost or gone.'