Briefly, if as in a dream, a spark ignited golden streams,
vibrating at the same frequency, it seems,
as the silver gleam harbored in me.
The leaves, they shiver, and depart from branch;
a multitude of crimson av'lanche,
To be snagged by glossy fingers' o' stream,
and curl into the distant gleam.
I must conclude, I saw myself within your words,
within your crooked smiles.
I saw myself and even heard-
the same cants I conspire.
It's foolish of me, this I know, I know,
but the glossy fingers beckon you Go,
down the stream of lifes' mosey sigh,
into the distant eventide.