I still remember that night:
hungry stars swirling around the Moon,
like a flight of a night dress
enveloping the snow-white body of my Goddess,
the dark petals of her eyelids.
We walked along a deserted street.
And suddenly, I saw a flame-colored horse-rider
dropping unexpectedly a silver horse-shoe.
Now, everything is in the past.
The dark petals of her eyelids
closed under the northern wind's gust.
A catapult of a naughty Cupid
destroyed evening lanterns.
And only anonymous stars
still sing to themselves,
some kind of a choral song,
forgotten long, long ago.