The Clone

To my lovely I lost I made anew,
With a strand of your hair that I withdrew.
Your loveliness grew with each division,
Your image returned in the finest precision.

What wonder of science, what marvel indeed!
That the ones we’ve lost should return a seed!
Each imperfection, each blemish, each spot,
Every image of you again have I wrought!

As if that blackened water didst never steal,
Nor its choking waves against you feel,
But as Atlantis lost you’ve now arose
From a tiny ocean of four sacred codes.

The ascent, I reckon, has made you weak,
For your mouth is not so common in speech.
Very little you say, very little you do,
And what actions you take I never knew.

I wonder why, as each day does pass,
You are not so often to smile or laugh.
The town you loved to live and shop
Is now but for food and groceries to stock.

We’d often dance about this street,
Each person you loved to mingle and greet.
And though you know them, their names and address,
It is solitude and serenity you now love best.

Your garden your chapel, your diary your friend,
The cooking and art I never knew then.
You speak now through that which your hands create,
Your body you keep but your spirit forsake.

So I’ve learned to love you all over again,
As a poet, an artist, a lover, a friend.
The hair so blonde I’ve lost to the sea,
But the brown one I plucked lives evermore with me.

God doest make us from the dust of the earth,
For the breath he breathes in us come not at birth,
But the life we live, the chances we take,
That is the paint with which God creates.