The Lady
Two poets walking by a field, Did spy a lady there, One thought her stripped and barren, The other thought her fair. “Do see her face,” the first proclaimed, “It's cold and hardened – pale, “What might have held two lovely eyes, “Is shrouded by her veil.” “Her body's dry, her skin is peeled, “So frail, yet thick – so dead. “To think! To think! What soon will come, “O'erflows my heart with dread.” The second poet softly mused, His gaze out o'er the sky, Then turned he to his saddened friend, To give him this reply: “Are not the roots that quiet'ly grow, “Her hidden, inner beauty? “I see wherewithal bloss'ming here, “Is not it blatant to thee?” “She waits for that which soon will come, “How eagerly she sings, “But thou, O friend, the winter sees, “While I dost see the spring.”