Beauty is a night entwined,
In mental lacework and woe,
For which the day sleeps for dawn,
And the sun is love,
And a smile for show.

Time for the whisper,
A second for the wait,
Where the thought becomes the chord,
Music the word,
Words of soft estate.

And love,
And heart,
And the single word they spoke of endless days,
Left a spoken thought the whispers say,
Broke the heart of man and mind,
Then broke her own heart in kind.