Beauty flutters on fragile wings
which clumsy human hands may mar.
How often heedless clouds will veil
the visage of a dainty star
which peers from heaven's portals
as a treasure proffered from afar.
The lacework wrought of gentle weave
that virtue leaves us in her wake
is made for such who know to give
perhaps is nobler than to take,
or taking shouldn't lack at least
a thankful heart for goodness sake.
Yet awkward still we all have been
and brutish often with our touch,
preserving from haphazard ways
a paltry sum in place of much.
Yet if more lavish boon is hid
then why are we content with such?
Many sundry ways there be
which silken beauty may elude.
She flees from unkempt hallways
and from rooms where unclean feet intrude.
Yet thanks to her creator's grace
from sweet return she'll not exclude.
(I know it's kind of on the same theme as the previous poem but this is just what came out!)
[This message has been edited by Stephen Jones (edited 03-26-2000).]