A poetic tribute to Sir Valentine

 


My Amaranth

My love for you is an Amaranth

Never dying, never fading.

Yet plucked from the stem

Its spirit once resplendent

Has now faded and begun to die.

 

My Amaranth, once fed by

The rich streams of nectar flow.

Pure, loving river, you are no more

Leaving rocks and hard, broken stones

as it stands in the unmerciful cold,

cursed by its imperishable immortality,

it dutifully awaits the merciful spring that will never

inevitably come. 

 

Emily Moran-Howarth

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