Whose soul is cast
And burnished
Like the bronze,
To weather well
The passage of time
And the inscriptions
Of circumstance;
Whose majesty would
Never fail or diminish
On either
A pedestal thrust,
Or fallen low,
Covered in dust;
Whose passions
Would soar up
To the heavens from
The callow mould of lust,
And but for
The coat of patina green
Would show no signs
On lesser moulds seen,
Of the hideous, corrupting
Encrustations of rust.
From Island Poems by Ronnie Patel (Lotus Print ISBN 81-88451-02-09 C.Right Author)
.JPG)
