A forest bathed in inky glistening night
Is suddenly bathed in what could have been the moon
As time collapses in on itself
A rosy, golden ribbon of dawn
Reaches out to embrace a thread of dusky bronze
As a lady passes in her majesty
With footsteps like the turning pages of a favourite story
She pauses to murmur in a voice comprised of quite moments
As she pauses to nurture the first breath of a blossoming idea
The trees lean to grasp what they can of her essence
And the very earth sighs to simply feel her presence
As she weaves her way off to somewhere brighter,
The wood remains
Forever made more brilliant by her grace
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