Dream Weaver


She.

She glides through my thoughts, like Moon-mist on a calm Mere;
a porcelain vision, so flawless...so pale.
A murmuring zephyr, one feels... but cannot hear;
So hard to resist... condemned, ever... to fail.

A sweet, silken whisper, caressed by the light
of a great Harvest moon, shining so palesomely
serene, in her hair... a soft, tumbling, delight;
she whispers 'Your heart is full forfeit to me.'

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