Beset by drudgery,
Eventually neither purity nor carats matter,
And the emotions once invested, molt,
Flying out and to the furthest away.
But if you take me,
Like a ribbon in May,
’round the shaft of everlasting life
through the superabundance of nature
and fall beside me upon the grass,
Suffused with the heart’s accord
— Soft, warm, and soothing —
Like lovers of the eighth day’s delight,
happily, we’ll live,
Oblivious to the ninth.
I vote to share that invisible token,
One not easily broken, stolen,
or buried under Time’s foot.
Escape the talk of gemological vibrances,
their fetching colours, cuts and such,
for those ornamental gifts are wasted.
White ponds are lovelier
Infusing fellowships and solitudes alike
And feeding fellows in the web of life —
These ever modest ponds ooze value.
Why not be sensible about our treasures?
Now is the time.
Now, while they excavate
Let us ring in a new order.
Leave the blue ground be.
Let it lie in situ.
Give me no symbols of the dream.
Only reveal, at will, what you carry within;
We won’t mind forever this way.