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Beauty has not yet bloomed
in the wake of broken halves
only tears shed
in the shadow of white lilies
and destiny blamed
for stolen treasures
little sad swan,
grounded in the river's grave

and beside the hazel pearls
a heart turned to glass
by the dimming sun.
the embers of silence
burn through memories
of missed daydreams
and turned fortunes

the robin sings no more
for a leaf mercilessly etched
by the draught of emptiness
where the waterfalls are turned
with no-one to embrace.

and in the glorious wan
she will dance her last
before the final goodbye
when she fades to stone
Eden is gone.

by Connie Mutua

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