Time has set his eating stamp on your kind face, Infecting more deeply what each day's renown Promotes, until he has all smooth grace consumed, Raking acid trenches where flowered fields had blown. 5 But you shall be revenged on what thief time can take, For though every flower dies that in April had its head, And woodpeckers mark seconds while they make, And blossoms burst, their shriveled petals shed, And mountains wash eventually to sea, 10 They have nothing of what your soul intends--- For effortless beauty cannot from you leave That have in mental gates stored beauty others lend. In your mind revolves an uncorrupted rose, As in a glass ball, whose petals cannot close.
From the collection "XXX Sonnets"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.