A Thing Of Beauty Poem by Barry Middleton

A thing of beauty is a moment's grief;
the kiss of earth is but a fantasy.
For beauty fades and dies without relief,
a perished rose in frail mortality.
Blossoming and hope must have an end,
in time our passion and our rapture pale,
regardless of the dreams that we pretend,
and naught is left to even up the scale.
The beauty of the world is quenched in death,
the trees and gentle creatures are not saved,
when every living thing is robbed of breath,
and every soul within its horrid grave.
A thing of beauty is a motive for despair;
for beauty wanes like unrequited prayer.