Pulchrum

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust;

The things that mortals made.

But still there gleams, amidst the rust,

A Beauty that does not fade.

The Beauty of immortal things,

That far outlasts our solemn kings.

It shines from every mountaintop,

And in the sun at dawn.

It’s seen in every rabbit’s hop,

And the shyness of a fawn.

The Beauty that will never die,

For those with eyes to see;

And their ears hear the joyful cry

Of hosts of Sanctity.

Just a little something I wrote, actually shortly after PEAK 2 years ago. I thought I’d share it on here. – The Roman Rambler