Vase

Shapely drop of molten glass,
Crystal hewn with precision of a flawless touch.
Conception of purest eye and unfaltering hand.
Gilt-rimmed chalice,
Dancing with the reflection of the passing seasons,
Meadows sway in the mirror,
Sun and rain and snow and sun,
Tick off their cyclic passage on the lip of untarnished gold.
Graced by yellow of daffodils,
Caressed by the white touch of lilies,
Embraced in the fragrant crimson petals of the rose.

The shelf is shaken, the tablecloth pulled.
Captured in space by a thread too weak
The ends of the earth pause in suspense and time delays its race
One thousand stars sparkle in flight
Ten thousand luminous rays relinquish their passionate light
And burst into shards of eternity.
Darkness.

Sunlight warms the meadow and pierces the blinds,
Passing over a well-swept floor and coming to rest on the sill.
A row of new flowers, dripping with dew
Rest in new and spotless ewers.
The transparent surfaces echo the likeness
Of the painter’s last tribute to the vessel of flowers,
Casting its image from the table.
Behind a plate of smooth glass lies a snap-shot of fleeting beauty,
Visage still glowing, facade of unending splendor.
A beauty lost forever, treasure to cherish for a time,
But relinquished to the toll of silver