Tiny tinsel twining there,
suspended in the evening light,
gathers dew as lovers drawn,
to feed the soul,
to feed the night.
Hearts across a universe,
mortal love,
immortal souls,
descend the heavens,
longing touch,
defining dew drop’s kiss,
so bold.
Yet angel’s wings are stranger things
when to the mortal touch be blessed,
shape a heart in labyrinth,
embracing hope with truth confessed.
But not of mortal love alone,
but of a simple heart’s desire
to warn the soul,
to kindle kind
the ashes of love’s fire.
The fire,
that once has burned
within a mortal beating heart,
is lashed to love again,
again,
until an angel takes the part
to free the anguish and the grief,
to carry life’s own burden grown,
to bear the weight and frame eternal,
to swiftly lift sweet love toward home.
Dew drops stacked in waiting,
wanting,
upon the tiny tinsel there…
just souls in longing love’s return,
suspended in the evening air…