TimeSo many things Ive lost, so many tearsfell through these slender fingers without stopping,so much of earth wore down beneath these feet.Innocence stood here once. Beauty and Mirth,her sisters, too. They all have gone.Alone, I stand amid the fallen leaves.
A NotebookBright hopes scrawled there by my virgin hand: a veil, a flower, shining silver, a maiden mother and her child, an apple on the heavy fruited bough fallen, ripe and gold, into her lap. The veil is torn, the flower wilted, the ring has dropped not to be found again. The mother frowns, the child cries, the apple rots beneath the summer sun.These things remain here only in my ink.