When in the height of youthful prime,
And candour gently reigned,
Then feared you not the march of Time,
Possession you disdained.

How fulsome in existence chaste
Were you content to dwell;
And life's pursuits in restless haste
Cast not their ugly spell.

Content without the irksome hand
Of one who gathers flowers.
Content in peaceful shades to stand
Whilst claims were made in bowers.

Then came those hands, clear to discern
Above the heady throng.
How came you for those hands to yearn?
To whom do you belong?

Why sigh you now, with faded mien,
For hands which care you not?
Regretting thus to be unseen,
Regretting now your lot?

Regretting now the loss of time,
And peace in disarray?
The ravages of seasons' clime
Upon your features prey.

Resign you now alone to fade,
Your bloom o'ercast by care.
Resign again to unseen shade.
In vain do you despair.

_________________________

I'm not a good photographer by any stretch. I'm painfully aware of being watched by exemplary photographers from among my friends list (you know who you are), and I can only hope you think not unkindly towards this rank amateur in possession of merely average equipment. The accompanying verses also belong to the literature category, but of course, DA does not allow for more than one.


A flower ungathered by human hands is often a metaphor for being unseen and unloved. It is certainly a frequent motif in Thai poetry, and, the more I think on it, it occurs elsewhere too (Mad Margaret in Gilbert and Sullivan's operetta Ruddigore, for instance, sings of a hidden violet, in contrast to the 'shameless' roses who are in no doubt of attracting attention).

A note on my use of the word 'candour' here. Aside from its well understood definition of the quality of frankness, openness and honesty, I'm also using it in its older, lesser known sense: that of ingenuousness and innocence.