By Leah Jordan Meahl
How wonderful it is to be so rich,
With beauty like a precious stone of quartz,
And shine with light so glittering and clear.
No one can hardly stand but notice you,
Your steps so strong and eyes that rise above
It all. The Sun marks clear the way before you,
Even the Sun, the Moon, the stars bow down,
The crescent moon smiles brightly at your face.
But though, when earth hangs still and stops its turn,
When pleasure wrought with fleeting specks of dust
Then drift away amidst its fruitless praise,
What’s left but dreams and visions long past due?
The glory, spent as with a heavy sigh,
Could be avoided if—myself—deny?