Withered rose
Austere
Lifeless bloom
Dangles torpidly
From swarthy blighted vine
Once pristine in her glory
Dignified
Filled with passion
Her haggard petals
Lay wasted
On barren conquered soil
Pathetic ruin
For such beloved largesse
Tears of lament
Stain cheeks of crestfallen connoisseurs
We weep for squandered beauty
Beside her unmarked grave
Tragic demise
For such a gracious lady
Consumed by her lust for immortality
Her somber chronicle
Comes to a morbid end
“And there followed another angel, saying, Babylon is fallen, is fallen, that great city, because she made all nations drink of the wine of the wrath of her fornication.”
Revelation 14:8
© Bill Grimes Jr. 2005
