...A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams
and health, and quiet breathing. (Keats)
A thing of beauty,
encompassed in snapshots like
glossies from celebrity magazines,
professionally photographed
in posh style and sweet dreams.
Gentle, like quiet breathing,
beautiful in her lacy, ecru gown, Leslie
rode with her beau in a white carriage
through Hampton Drive in Almaden,
rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose
blooms, posing against emerald
and the jade greens of the Country Club.
Wreathing a flowery band,
the newlywed, strolled in her wedding gown
by Carmel . The ocean—blue as her eyes,
the wind stroking her cheeks,
her beige body blending
with the sand on the beach, pearls of moisture
glistening like the white gleam on her smiling face,
an endless fountain of immortal drink pouring
unto her from Heaven’s brink, as her sparkling eyes
rested on her sweetheart’s intent gaze.
Sweet Leslie, on a picture frame
looking at her friends and familial faces
shielding their tears, unable to smile back at her
as they gather in church
to bid farewell to her and all her vibrance—
a photographic smile, that belied
a true snapshot of her life wrought with irony,
that never betrayed her battling the scourge
of glucose and gangrene.
All we saw was her sweetness,
and her impish smile.
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