You tread so, unfondly and almost—
too carefully after the echoes
of wintry whisperings, yet swerve—
and twirl in a grand vesture

of fireflies, of distant worries;
dream like a glowing summer
amongst dwindling youths
and enraptured stardust:

solemnly, and dearly too.

"I will be happy, if you were..."
insistent, you professed; yet deny me—

your caged heart.

Your silhouette casts over
the fiery meadow, over—
the vibrant ruins; finds harbour
only, in the eyes of the serpent

and prance wreathed in light.

Caress your clipped wings; embrace—
yourself and bear in mind, always:

I will sit with you in the dark.