Nature’s Beauty

by BRIANNA ROSE BURTON

Somewhere a broken heart is mending,

and even it surpasses the moment when

it once knew pain. When the twinge of a

heart once understood its own experience

— recognized its own pain — I cannot;
but this is where I go when you leave,
to the hollow grounds beneath the city sands
for a sip of ephemeral bliss;
to breathe my air within a baleful world,
or see the beauty within any unseemly star.
When I dream beneath the copper moon and golden stars,
somehow I find intoxication within the sumptuous beauty
of cerulean skies over cobalt seas and amaranthine mountains,
just before the lustrous white of winter,
when the rufescent flames of autumn are soon to pass.
The whisper of the wind, the symphony in the air,
and the patter of the rains I imagine,
for nature so effulgent cannot itself endure unsightliness,
but when it does — if man do taunt her elegance, her fascination —
she regains her tranquil embrace, her beauty.
Yet with all her promises and smiles, the future waits,
to see the bright and fair advantage of her youth.
The memory of sorrow grows, while the melody of bliss still plays,
and death still yearns, for many years,
to see true beauty’s face.