Lament For Molly

Beneath the farthest rock, in farthest field
I found, I hid this note I wrote to you.
I don't know where the mailman finds you now
And so it serves as box and grave both one.

What beauty I can garner from my thoughts,
Is very like the widow gath'ring seeds
from fields of frost before the snow has fallen,
Wintering now and scythed like hoary chin.

Though once regarding looks were fashioned,
By evenings spent considering your face
I see, mind's eye upon a fictive tableaux,
A scorn I feel inside to be your mask.

Then once again I'm present, threshing moments
With flail, how can I ever have agreed
To this plot. My schemes brought to this final blush?
I fooled myself that love's promises were real.

You touched me once when evening's fire burned low,
A glancing blow, you gently brushed my hair.
And in that moment, if I could be frozen;
An ambered fly, I would stay ever still.

Stuart Andrew Marshall Tanner