Does She Stalk Pathways...

‘How much we change...

I well remember when,’

She said -

But that was years before

And now, she’s dead!

 

Who was she - why,

And what to me,

Who once lived, died,

Yet stirs my memory?

 

A brief spark, struck

From some ancient flint

That caught, soared, burned

Cooled,

Teetered at the brink;

 

Then sputtered, died

Leaving no mark,

No trail beyond the heavens

That sped her... Dark!

 

Her flight was short, sharp

Exquisite and pale,

Translucent, futile

She spilt her grail

 

With every seed spawned

At harvest’s spring,

Her womb wide

She let them in.

 

All ruffians and w****s

She bore to this,

The swift brief spark, struck

Then nothingness.

 

And why, when mirrors

Tell me I’m old,

Does she stalk pathways

I’d paved with gold?

 

David Lewis Paget