Vain seasons ebb and flow. The summer's heat
Now yields to coming dark and cold, a feat
Of nascent winter. Dazzling roses fade
In dour display of floral pasquinade.
The dust dry petals fling into the air
Remind the hungry heart of earth's despair.
O loose eternally the mortal curse
And find hid sacred pearls to bless your purse.
Why not this day depart from fears and fade-
Less blessings gain, your tainted fleshly shade
Put off? What blooms in holy solitude?
The rose of Sharon, God's beatitude.
Note: The source given for the title of the second entry prior to this one was "Westminster Chimes". I presume it is a poetic setting to the famous chimes of Big Ben. The entire short poem is:
Lord, through this hour
Be Thou our Guide,
So by Thy power
No foot shall slide.