Your eyes were shining with a blossom,
I muddled pages in a swirl –
A frosty blizzard, white and awesome
Undid my mind with snowy whirls. How strange to wear those masks, engaging
In talks. Your hardly fathomed why…
You know but well that books are magic,
But life is prose – cut and dry. And yet to me it’s a mosaic:
The river mist, our magic night,
The smoke that rises - freezing, sailing,
Of merry rhymes a winking light. So don’t be strict with me, I plead you,
Don’t tease me with your mask’s dark play,
In mind’s deep mine wake not the sleeping
And diabolic, hungry flame…