When thou shalt age


O Beloved Vicente,
when I think of old age,
how I become more faithful to thee!
I think of---When thou shalt age
Further than my whiskerless chin,
When thy fine hair shall transmute
to a snowy stretch and that only my plowing fingers shall permeate
bearing such crisped winter
with no ermine,
When thine enshrined face
shall bear the same fate as that tree' crinkled trunk,
When thy skin shall defrost from thy bone and tumble indeed like such thawed water of a melted ice,
O' when the youth of thy scent
shall senesce to its anile fragrance,
At last when thy beauty shall wave adieu to its youthness
and when thy sophisticated corpse shall render itself
to which ''unknownity'' it came from
O what an abortion
that beauty itself shall indeed travail! Its cinder shall bury its very last flame with mourns and groans
for there'll shall be no coal
like thine iris to ignite this flame
that beauty claims to be!
For indeed when thou shalt be anile beauty shall be debile and senile

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