Poetry’s Tiltings

“bride of quietness and slow time”

An emerald gem does not require your praise

To be a wonder as it waits.  We cut

With laps and chisels reverently to raise

Its hallowed thrill.  The angles need not strut

Their loveliness.  It lies in silence while

It waits for us and after we are dead

As if in flights, a floating emerald isle

Outside our human realm.  The green is bred

With holiness and waits when we are gone.

It doesn’t need us, neither me nor you.

The emerald essence waits, goes mornings, on,

Its character and meanings holding true.

  Its facets show its spirit’s sheen.  They mean

    Unendingly, unceasingly sworn green.