Rosalind's Mosaic Path
Rosalind woke one musty afternoon
from a leaner's sleep, retracing paths confused.
She pushed her feet into the avenues,
as stubborn years unscrolled.
Besides, a room is darkest come the evening time.
With the brazen entry of a reading light,
an aging sunbeam digs in for a fight,
as all who fear the cold.
A toast to teamwork, then the sprinters were off,
and a hurdle was she who heard no pistol shot.
Vaulting from her wings, and in a fistful caught,
torn ribbons theirs to wear.
And how the pavement's age shows in crow's feet prints!
Its trampled face forever known to flinch.
A shackled gaze which hardened into squints,
as all who bear the glare.
through bursted crack,
in youth's defiance
pushed its roots down
amongst the giants,
but leaves no patch.
Now slouched with balding crown,
days whittled to the ground...
And were these scribbled clouds once clues
to riddles found in open view,
traced through each new day's gauze?
In one fit of haste, all truth was lost.
And will the teeming hundreds hear a tale of humbled greed?
A solitary huntress saw no forest for her trees.
So blind to any hunches but the busywork of bees!
In silence, guilty screams...
Rosalind gathers up her fractured stones.
with edges polished in a tumbling cone,
to press in mortar for a pathway home,
her great mosaic planned.
But could each new tile hide another divide
for time to seal her Pepper's ghost inside?
Ever hers to crawl where others safely slide!
She eyes the curb askance.
its pledge to nurse,
now crushed by tires,
in curbside shadows.
As steppingstones prior
all fade in worth,
but still may proudly know
their greater good has grown...
The crispy leaves of brisk Septembers
nip the heels like crackling embers.
Smiles for finches heard,
forever so few favourite words!
Like scribes of ancient tablets tumbled from our infant hands.
Our lives to fetch the fragments, sketching etchings sieved from sand
in palimpsestic pamphlets future lives may never glance.
Yet science stays intact...
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