SWEET PRETTY THINGS

330 am days get shorter as her heart grows thicker and he grows sicker. The dead hour night eclipses over a soul, turns to shadows and his angels to dark, invades his spirits and burns them clean with white light in lost happiness, in lost sight. The changes she fears dawn in unchanged tears, painful and draping her cheeks crowning of forgotten years and the mornings wind blows curtains to shelter and wither with a song by an unknown artist to never be complete tying us all together, a melody lost into tapping toes and dancing feet.