Strolling down the wooded track,
Sunlight peers through a break in the trees.
Caught in its glare, my heart ascends,
As I resolve to tell her.
...
Early morning.
The bitter wind upsets the air.
Creeping into the distant sky,
A golden guide of light.
...
I have never seen a jewelled sky.
Sometimes I see a lonesome point of white,
Standing against the apathetic murk.
Looking around, I can count four or five of these incendiary spheres,
...
Crowding ahead,
Can be seen a black space,
Densely arrayed,
Bathing all within its grasp
...
Strolling Down The Wooded Track
Strolling down the wooded track,
Sunlight peers through a break in the trees.
Caught in its glare, my heart ascends,
As I resolve to tell her.
She walks ahead; the light is tossed among her auburn curls.
I stand shaded, trapped in dread,
Resolves fading in the sober earth.