The stars, your eyes, mingling, glistening
Shivering tongues, softening, intertwining
The gentle trembling of warm fingers
The wet air is filled with whispers

Crimsoning cheeks, the blushing of lips
Hot sand caressing soaking flesh
The velvet sky slowly sinks, darkens
And falls upon our shadowy figures

Round silver moon gazing over playful skin
We laugh, we bathe in its ethereal glow
Fearless hands searching, finding, exploring 
pearls, treasure, long lost secret land

Not long until like the waves we crash
Dressed in thick foam to wash ashore
Sweetly softened by the silken sun, we melt
Into the heat of the golden morning.

I love your mud-drenched country lanes,
Curious bonfire smell in deepening woods;
The crimson skies overlooking the plains
Absorbed in the years most nostalgic moods.
I love your wild colours, waltzing flowers,
As much as your withering and decay;
Your mornings as much as your long, dark hours;
The night far as much as the blushing day.
It is true I will love you, for as long as you
Won't forget to return once every year -
Dear autumn, I think I'd love you still
Even if 'twas your last time being here.

the passing cloud in pale blue skies
the ocean wide that drinks your eyes
the sailing storm one summer’s day
the rain to kiss the blush of May

You

the growing rose in winter’s frost
the secret smile no sight wants lost
the lonesome tree down by the lake
the breeze that makes its foliage shake

You

the touch that is with sunlight crowned
the voice in which the sea has drowned
the stare which makes the moon glow more
the long lost wave to kiss the shore

You

the distant sigh that calms the screams
the hidden glister among the beams
the unseen path amidst the vine
a love for which the dreamers pine

You.

Every night I lie awake and listen
To creaky doors and squeaky floors
'' 'Tis only the weather'', the wind sighs -
'' 'Tis only me on the moors.''

Every night the old house shakes
As if a ghost had cursed the walls;
'' 'Tis only the hymn of winter'', the wind sighs -
'' 'Tis only me who always calls.''

Every night I open the window
To absorb the distant cries of night
'' 'Tis only the time of year'', the wind sighs -
'' 'Tis only me taking flight.''

Every morning I gently awaken
To feel a glistening sun on my cheek
'' 'Twas only the wind,'' I say,
'' 'Twas, and 'tis always the wind.''

There is witchcraft in the skies,
as the clouds swallow
the empty spaces in between,
consuming it like a lover.


There is witchcraft in your eyes;
as they burn through mine
impatiently, ceaselessly;
a forest on fire.

The sighing winds had lulled me here;
The waltzing boughs, too, had fallen for its charm;
The ivy, ferns, alders and the birches;
The quivering hemlock against my arm.

The travelled path was now long left behind,
And on hills of gentle moss I stood and gazed about
To find the purple cloak of twilight painting me,
And all the pines, not one left out.

II

The harvest moon in its splendour came rising,
Had poured itself on the waters deep;
The birds were silent, the wind still sighing
Had brought the woodland a drowsy sleep.

The dawn had come in golden light
And where I was I did not know -
I wandered long to find the path again,
And in the distance heard the river flow.

When sorrow fills me these silent hours,
When hope has flown o’er restless waves;
I watch the grey clouds sigh out heavens showers,
Awaiting blue skies to soon come again.

I think I know still, that the mind may turn brighter,
With each merry thought that blooms in its core;
How soon enough the year will grow lighter,
The tears kept unwept no more near the eyes door.