If the pond upon which his eyes had gazed
Existed still or were a riverbed
Love's florid bow with arching arrows raised
Would shower down so thick, a darkness spread,
Over time that time would reflect again.
For stagnant that which any beauty lies
Echoing would, their eyes, find lieing vain
That other places ageing multiplies
And not the place where they have rooting stayed.
But as Narcissus learned even flowers
Can not hold on the darling buds of May
For seasons, and petals, fall in showers;
And always time will catch that stagnant stare
When, laid, are eyes in its reflective snare.
