beggared on this taunted key

eyes, long emptied stark hollows of jaundice,

no longer reflect the encirclement of youthful steel

 

and, thus cowered beneath such plumb altiloquence,

she finds herself now wimpled in a creeping green

where her walls bleed a jealous neglect

 

fish flaked the façade of dandruff drips

her autumnal fall into sorry stupor where

grumbling brickworks effloresce, vainglorious

 

not in tribute

 

for who could love her now?

those weeds grow long around her feet

as doleful duenna to her tawny disgrace

 

yet still we look

 

through the fog

through the trees

through the dearth of honey

bees to where

the dewdrops sit like

sugared spit upon the old

maid’s bristled lip