beauty
I once met a girl on a train.
A very long time ago
When the Sahara felt much rain,
Before Everest knew snow.
In the time of side compartments,
The passageway along a side
When every word meant more
Than it tried to hide.
And in the way of strangers
With youth as their guide
We spoke as rangers
Tasked with restraining reckless tides.
But the reckless word, "beauty"
Breached the air we breathed.
She said, "call me snooty
But a slug on a rose doth bereave".
"Not true", I said, "for although it is said
That beauty is truth and not ugly,
One dusk in a rose garden bed
A slug on a bloom fused beauty".
Slugs on the ground gave acclaim
For the pattern was now complete
And those slugs danced as a Sahara rain
Round my flooded, startled feet.
The girl's haunted smile
Followed her out the door.
I've walked many a haunted mile
Following her slime trail on the floor.