Lowering my eyelashes, the world I see is sun-setting.
The earth, that ancient trebuchet, picks up the sun to draw it back again.
And in the morning it will fling across the sky in gaiety to chase the moon.
Ah, nobility and beauty come to muse with me at wistful times.
Sometimes I assume them to be my own, since they are what I see.
But whatever I may see or feel, it’s only alive in my eyes, my soul.
Invisible in me, I think, to all who look… and even to myself, to my chagrin.
Fairy dust prickles the inside of my eyelids, and I never want to open them and see myself
There’s a beauty spell out there somewhere, and I don’t know the words.
Words, not to make a plain face fair… but to put fairy dust behind our eyelids and make it stay
So that everything beheld lies in a golden glow, and even I can be what I see.