beryllium

“In the center of a hurricane there is absolute peace and
quiet.  There is no safer place than in the center of the will
of God.”—Corrie Ten Boom

her kiss was not the dew at dawn,
her rouge no golden hue;
the spirit of the gentle faun
found here no xanadu.

she raped the wealth of pleasant lands,
havocked the caribbleau,
life’s peace accord, torn, in her hands,
her winds a wild tableau.

pillaging roofs and trees and boats,
her anger made a stew,
transporting pigs and cows and goats
far from their rendezvous.

the trembling man, caught in his shack
of zinc and ply and glue,
came face to face with death, his lack
laurelled on fate’s plateau.

the spendthrift, of beryllium joys
has waved his bland adieu;
we are the pieces of his toys
in aftermath milieu.

© Copyright 2024 July 06
by Clyve A. Bowen♫