and i, the diaphanous dew
that rests on
wilted leaves,
her petals once young,
strong, and suave,
now but infirm and
moribund.
and i, the rip'ning
fruit that hangs of
hoary branch,
his body once firm,
now weathered and worn,
conscious of the coming
scythe.
and i, the wand'ring plume,
carried by the gales
of june, once ensconced
atop the fair swan,
though i parted
long ago.
and i, the lacrimose
heart, that ports the
wounds of loss, will
surcease anon to beat,
and embrace my rest eterne.
Jan 29
Jan 29, 2026 at 5:23 PM UTC
and i, the diaphanous dew
that rests on
wilted leaves,
her petals once young,
strong, and suave,
now but infirm and
moribund.
and i, the rip'ning
fruit that hangs of
hoary branch,
his body once firm,
now weathered and worn,
conscious of the coming
scythe.
and i, the wand'ring plume,
carried by the gales
of june, once ensconced
atop the fair swan,
though i parted
long ago.
and i, the lacrimose
heart, that ports the
wounds of loss, will
surcease anon to beat,
and embrace my rest eterne.