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.