Love Poem of the Lily
The difficulties of life cannot overcome thee,
for thou art my constant and divine.
The gilded lily speaks from a royal age,
apportioning regal kindness
as a pillar of society, while youth rage.
Here you stood on a cliff with
the wind in your hair,
you were more savage than mild,
more gilded than wild—
the wind howled,
and there was a long space.
The empire of kindness grew.
Black note. Entwined.
Grace note. Elegy. Rest.
Then everyone looked at you
and saw you were unequally yoked.
The planets and moons began to fall out of space,
and you were out of sorts,
bought a glitzy ball gown, curled your hair, twirled
as a Dowager before the waltz.
I once said I love you
and that love remains;
constant through years,
the blood in my veins.
I never will leave you,
be I poor or of wealth,
as the sun crosses the sky,
without guile, without stealth.
And though the ashes remain of our years,
they are sacred because of our butterfly tears.