She Of A Timely Role Poem by eve Taylor

The curator of souls,

silently sits,

watching humanly spheres,

turbulent yet sometimes slow,

some of smiles,

some of rain,

though years of reign,

she sits,

quietly now,

hoping and wishing,

they find their way,

their own way,

for her days,

she sits,

with quiet eyes,

purely,

an observer now,

no more to say,

she hides her tears,

as well her fears,

for they need not,

be concerned,

with her timely loss,

of a day once reigned.