Samson's shears

Assembly, in the halls of white marbleA new ritual, or at least forgotten.A shining metal bowl, shallow, rounded bottomThe water is still..Even as you cut my forbidden hair, you marvel at its lustreEven as you slice away the clothes, you admire their fitEven as you kill me, you can feel my greatnessIt is a lost beauty, a fatal sunset, the last touch of theexecutioner you offer me. We accept our roles, as part of nature,and at the end, disperse.