To a Fine Lady

Moist, grey and cold
Fair lady
The day they dressed you in chill earth;
The warmth that once was you
Is free
Of all earth's mean ingratitude;
No seas, no peaks, no clouds, no climates
Now
Can catch the echoes of your voice
Or
Envy anymore
That spark that supm with words
Galaxies of plentitude;
The walls that seem to hold you in embrace
Touch only merest matter -
Vaster still by far than space
The ways of light
That welcome your beatitude.

 © R.G. Bishop