Nature Poem by mark anthony st. rose

As the pangs of age betakes the cherished beholder more,
loses its grasp the clutches of surface beauty’s illusions,
fading like once buoyant river now succumbed to dry seasons,
or like sunset descending behind seas its dying ember.
And now transient nature its ephemeral face reveals,
as if to reflect the dark still of night,
Accompanied by the silent weepings of the spirits so called,
As if to mark the end of this joyous journey with tears,
Something like the mourners at a morbid mortal grave,
Who desires once more the bond of a loved one,
Or once more the mortal beauty to possess for just
One more day.






copyright@2009 by mark anthony st. rose. All rights reserved.