The Ballerina

Adieu, I wish to say at last. So I can return steadfast To the sweet scented room Where no decay or doom Can enter without consent Of the blossom quiescent. The flaming chariot delays the withering of her days, the melting of a snow flake, birds onset to a pristine lake, but ruby tears and my blood flow like the biblical flood. A butterfly flaps her wings Abandoning her silky rings, A beetle shines with desire To be brighter than sunfire, glimpse the awed nightingale silenced by a newborn dale. Adieu, I will not say any more, lay with me on this seashore, if the red tide carry us afar where beams a young star, uncharted by the scientists unconscious that it exists.