Who Else?

Each second spins a silken thread to weave
the minutes which take turns to interlace
the hours which days through years spin tears to race
towards an unknown destiny. Don’t grieve,
for in Life’s cup there’s joy which could deceive
the Gods, grown jealous of the human race.
This blossom has both human name and face
coeval with one smile, so I believe, -
who else since Troy’s fair Helen could receive,
such charm, intelligence and simple grace?
These qualities unique here interface
with talents never hitherto achieved...
all future generations will regret
they lived not now, - her fame none shall forget...

poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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