Forest Pines stand tall on a mountainside,
And sway gently to the brisk mountain air,
As it cascades down the valley,
And they are a sight to behold---
Though no one be there to see.

And ocean waves rush in to meet the shore,
Rising and falling in a crescendo of orchestrated sound,
Soothing to the ears---
Though there be none that hear.

And sweet apples grow ripe on branches,
In the love of the morning sun,
And are sweet---
Though there be none to taste.

And lavender and sweet peas
Grow wild in an open field,
Giving their scent to all---
Though none be there to smell.

And the petals of a rose,
Are no less soft---
Though the hand of one be absent.

And nothing can change what is.
Though breezes be still---
And waves subside,
And apples over-ripen and drop to the earth,
And lavender and sweet peas be no more,
Nor even the wilting of rose petals.

For beauty stands in and of itself
And merely is ---
Even as an angel is no less beautiful,
To the one who beholds her,
Though she utter not a word.

Copyright A.G. Poetry