Twixt our crossed fingers held
A silver lining not beheld
And between golden fleets of stars
The black space that keeps them apart.
Even with the Sun at noon most high
It too, lays down its glowing breast to die
And with its last breath
Smolders, the cinders red.
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 5:41 AM UTC
Twixt our crossed fingers held
A silver lining not beheld
And between golden fleets of stars
The black space that keeps them apart.
Even with the Sun at noon most high
It too, lays down its glowing breast to die
And with its last breath
Smolders, the cinders red.
