While bonfires smelt of frankincense,
Upon the chilly morning air,
A mist was rising in the pines,
that fell like stars upon your hair.

The sun was low atop the hill,
the fields were gleaming bright with dew,
And velvet mushrooms sprang up where,
a galaxy of flowers once grew.

For me at least, if not for you,
the atmosphere was charged that day,
It was as if each phrase you spoke,
I'd heard once in a Russian play.

And soon you would be on your way
Inside my chest I felt an ache,
And watched the geese take flight across,
the beaten silver of the lake.

Then as I gazed 'round at the mist,
that filled this cold, enchanted clime,
I realised moments could exist,
outside the drab constraints of time.

Where poets spin the golden stuff,
of which our finest dreams are made,
The goblin door, the fairy glade,
the land where roses never fade.

For then I knew, that once you had
been borne away upon your train,
You'd soon forget our meeting and
our paths would never cross again.

And later, at the station, as,
your train was waiting to depart,
I sealed this day forever in
the amber locket of my heart.