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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.
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