How do we treasure
The curves of lifeless stone
The time's own secret pleasure
That's lost of fairness none.
The scattered hours in the breeze
For the past
To endlessly behold, to leave the eye
at falsest ease, Masking life
beneath life's own lids of old
(As only once she'll lose her breath,
Not in the eyes of time she's trapped)
And so we're blind to graceful youth,
And endless time's to forged truth
Devout, Yet with her, it won't exhale another breath,
For one life's worth
the endless torment
of her death.
