Beauty imposes reverence in the Spring,
Grave as the urge within the honeybuds,
It wounds us as we sing.
Beauty is joy that stays not overlong.
Clad in the magic of sincerities,
It rides up in a song.
Beauty imposes chastenings on the heart,
Grave as the birds in last solemnities
Assembling to depart.
beauty is joy, good write, thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment.
A nice write. First off it seems quite uninspiring to me but the more I read the more depth I saw and felt. I hope this is not offensive to anyone but I always promised to be honest in my reaction and reviews on works.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Compelling poem, with its contrasting sentiments