Across The Evening Dew Poem by Alven L. Robinson

Across the evening dew
the mask prevailed,
as if the dripping
blue of souls was
lost in stagnant pools.

And there the light
pursued its certain depth,
a whitened stream
obsessed
into the portent's view - -
black poverty to find,
the prince's wardrobe
blinded by the stare,
the scarlet signs
possessed, yet washed
of passion's hue, the
sentence swiftly passed
upon conviction's cue.

And through the curling mist
the smile looked on,
its grasping edges turned
too late, the longing hour
waiting on the leaves,
their moment gone
as to a falling curse
ascending to the call - -
no witness left to grieve
behind the tattered shawl.