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.

Ferrick Gray
© 2020, 2021

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