She let her sunlit tresses fly,
tangled and golden in the air.
Unmeasurable light was in her eyes —
how fine they were! — and now that look is rare.
Her kndness showed in tender glances —
wind-flushed cheeks. At least that's how it seemed.
I was walking tinder, I took chances.
The next part might be something that I dreamed:
A fiery lightness in her bearing,
a voice that wasn't mortal — it was song,
a sort of angel presence she was wearing.
She was a thing from heaven. If I'm wrong
I'd just as soon not know.
To heal the wound you don't unstring the bow.
~