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As the fine dust, in the hid cell beneath Their transitory step and merriment, Drifts through the air, and the sarcophagus Gains yet another crust Of useless riches for the occupant, So I, the fires that lit once dreams Now over and spent, Lie dead within four walls And so now love Rains down and so enriches some stiff case, And strews a mind with precious metaphors, And so the space Of my still consciousness Is full of gilded snow, The which, no cat has eyes enough To see the brightness of. Gilded snow is an exquisite image
About the Shop VIP Fashion: Your One-Stop Shop for Dresses in Pennsylvania and Kentucky
Designed to Honor Every Curve: Not Hide It Many mothers walk into Dimitra Designs bracing for limited sizes and choices, then find a gown that fits, flatters, and moves beautifully with them
It also perfect for a bridal shower or reception dress
