As the imps do play in the dazzling lights, the swans preen and pine
In the shadow of amnesia. A new reality awakens within,
And upon its dawn there is naught but a woven world mirrored in night.
Shedding pretensions, their wings are gone with the sun.

Newly-made eyes open to darkness, and revel in freedom from light,
Only to realize once again that night is but a dull reflection of day.
And cry she does, to the heavens above, that she has so recently left;
She begs for the gods to let her peer out the window at truth.