by John Lars Zwerenz
She walks beyond the vine-clad stone,
In the English shade, to a garden of sun.
Her spirit and her flesh are one;
She walks in peace, to the glade, alone.
There are ebonies which call her
To epiphanies of yellow light.
And when the scented breeze
Through the linden trees stir
She reveals herself as royalty
In the diamond glow of heaven's sight.
Next to a bench of marble in the garden,
Where statues stand, clad with eglantines,
A fountain rises to the cloudless sky
Rejoicing in her beauty,
With a silver sigh
As her dark eyes gaze upon the sunny vines.
And all the earth is a symphony
As every star sobs with majesty,
Fair and solemn, sacred and of glory;
She walks upon the promenade,
Pondering rapture, and ecstasy
In the melodious bower of the sanctified glade.
Her thoughts are of felicity,
As the lavender sunset touches every rose,
With a summery grace,
Bestowing gold upon her face,
Where she walks in the little garden-close.
Last updated October 11, 2017