what’s missing isn’t mystery
but history, hysteria
wisteria and spanish moss
how vast a loss, to lose a lass!
at last the glass is cracked in two
but who could rue so true a love?
a mourning dove, a damask rose
who chose to mourn a ruined bloom
a wilted lily, lilting light
who longs to leave a stifled life
to toss aside all pleasantry
and presently, so elegant
she moves to cross a crowded room
the empty tomb looms, palpable
and pallor passes through the gloom
the groom awaits a blossom bride
a magnolia magnified
all swathed in swan-white, stiff chiffon
so long the dawn sleeps, stupefied
but hark! the lark is lurking near
to hear the ancient river sing
of rivulets, of willow leaves
of minnows’ wings and things of old
of golden rings and colder souls
the cormorant, ineffable
sings effervescent lullabies
and nullifies the linden tree
a symphony of sullen lies
the bride, beside a clover bed
wove tapestries of red and white
and over warp and weft she wept
alas! the lass that left her lad
how vast and sad the ragged pass
at last the glass is cracked in two
but who could rue a love so true?