Book of Poetry
[A book of handwritten poems, the ink almost completely faded but for a few enduring words.] I hold my breath for the sun to fall, For in the hot collapse of day, I'm brought to you. While Reithwin sleeps, the world entire is ours, The grass - our bed, the dew - our silver candles, The moon and stars our private canopy, And you the brightest of them all, My light, my heart, my world. I would watch the stars with you to the end of time - But night forever arches into day, And the sleepy nothing of the sunlit hours will mutter on. So instead I shall find eternity in a moment, And by the glance of moonbeams in your eyes will I be brought to rest As rest should be - enduring, still, Longing for naught but itself.