Perfect imbalance
of tumbling sky,

the fairies laugh,
the witches cry,

it matters not
what havoc comes,

the piper sleeps,
the drummer strums,

the boxer lifts his mighty arm

to crush the air
but nothing more,

his foe is gone
and is no more.

Across the hearth
a blazing fire

and chiming embers
as they fall

melting from the logs,

we reminisce
of memories lost,

a scent of dew
a touch of frost.