With time intent on his forever dance,
deftly stole I from him by slightest hand,
in a fleeting pause of conceded chance
moments of a beauty both rare and grand.
I saw a single ray of purest light
pierce a crystal glass droplet as it fell,
and become a lonely tear lost at night,
a vestige of false love’s now broken spell.
I watched the sharp life bloom of Springtime
and heard I a thousand strange voices sing,
many unknown songs with a single rhyme
and the rhythmic beat of a Blackbird’s wing.
Yet poisoned is the chalice I did steal,
for hidden is knowing what is now real.