My love would frown, if could, about this stone;
For grey had never pleased her fashioned eye
And Times Old Roman carved for older throne-
Not beauty, youth, no mason knew could die.
Would they, as I, denounce that fair be bones?
Thereby no empty tomb would need a cross,
Engravings spared from eyes of teary loans:
That borrows from a grave's imprint of loss.
But plainly there invokes her name in etch:
Confronting on my dreams that have her live-
As vividly as breath, her beauty's sketch,
Yet sight to stone cannot in death unlive.

Upon then mason grave this line 'neath hers:
'If here resides, then here too mine refers'

If William Tell told Isaac Newton
what Adam told Eve about sweet
apples and what Granny Smith
heard as to how Midas broke his
tooth on a French Golden Delicious,
gravity, as we know it today, would
never have been discovered and
the balloon on Banksy's painting
might never have blown away.

Mothers watched boys being stolen from their beds
In the midst of their dreaming
To become men that couldn't fend off the nightmares when they slept