When still sets the light,
And neither gold blooms,
I anticipate the sight,
Amid your faded plumes.
A bygone visage so ideal,
Feelings warm as used to be,
For your form is taken free,
From a souvenir once real.
Overbearing comes the light,
Muffled by my silken sheet,
When too late sets the night,
And your blur I wish to meet.
Among the stars you’ll be,
As liquid still they shine.
A wonder to never see,
This tranquil dream of mine.
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