Mine Own Filigree
Her golden tresses, crafted filigree,
So delicate, imagined, seldom seen,
For Beauty hides her face. This rarity;
Her smile, her eyes, adorn mine filigrene.
Lo, am I blind! I ask, where has she been?
For chancèd moments bless this common man,
The heart is stirred! O’ my! What can it mean,
As love-struck eyes admire sweet filigrann.
Yet dare I touch? I wonder if I can —
Will coarse hands spoil and tarnish Beauty’s shine?
’Twould be a sin no doubt, if fingers ran
Through tresses gold. O’ know, this thought is mine.
Such decoration pales! — The Maker’s art,
Lies not in what is seen, but in the heart.
© 2020, 2021