Amber eyes, glowing softly,
Form and face of quiet frailty
Voice of once such golden timbre,
Worn away to just a whisper
Heaven cast you as an angel
Fallen, but still beautiful
Hands of pale fingers, slender,
Hold to dreams that will not linger
Gone too, wings of brightest light
That raised you high into the night,
Singed away by battles royal
Grounded, but still ethereal
Others may have turned their backs,
Or spurned you with their cold attacks
Hurt you in your weary weakness,
Scourged you with their spiteful bleakness
Made you feel so small and fearful
Broken, but still prideful
In this place you’ve found respite,
A chance to maybe set things right
Where earthly love is for your taking
Fields of promise, quietly waiting,
Waiting for a kindred soul
Fallow, yet still bountiful.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is absoluely beautiful, Terry. As frail and ethereal as the subject. I did my own 'fallen' poem called Francesca if you want a look but I think it pales in comparison!