For Stranger, For Death.

This is something that I came up with when we studied sonnet 130 by William Shakespeare.

A stranger stands upon the temple stair,

Dark brown eyes dart quickly towards and fro,

Never such beauty have I seen so rare,

A mask of sadness veils her face so low.

She crosses slowly towards the silver gate,

And smells fresh bitterness in the cold air,

She rushes forward, thinking she is late,

She feels the wind through her transparent hair.

She hastens toward the inner west wing,

And watches her friends crying with resent,

The girl she sees is cold and unmoving,

On a bed of petals, her soul is sent.

Her eyes well up with invisible tears,

Death is just another path trough the years.