Lily; lighthouse in a storm,
Champagne flute, dew-filled by dawn.
Crystal goblet for the bees to dine
On nectar in an arctic funnel.
Sweet buzzing from the Opera House.
Brazen porcelain shoulders reflect a corsage lushly green.
Swan-throated, she lets fall her white mantilla, Arcs an
ivory song across the pond... Silent echo curves through
bull reeds, Serenades the moorhen in her den beyond.
Summer's end, her candle, pointing to the sky,
Proclaims last aria: Time to die.
