Under the honeycrisp branches
I'm watching the dusk die.
The ore *******
of a glassy sphinx
are silvering the fall,
her wingy myth
is mounting the sky,
is smiling at me
as she passes by.
And I look at her, look at her
scanning her magical waltz
with desperate eyes,
while thinking, in a nocturne,
how unreachable
it's her tide.

High in the pearly tree
a crimson robin
is waving good bye.
~Hildegarda Ares