In the rose light of morning

There is a retreat of silence

Things are transformed before my eyes

Shivering leaves shrugging off the dew

Just as I shake off the dreams

Which always seem to me

An endless pursuit

Like chasing a butterfly

Who, despite my search

With elegance and grace

Still flies high and out of reach

Wings trembling as a lonely heart

Without a sound

Seemingly unaware

Of the constant presence of darkness

The cool brush of the night against its fragile form

These are the scarlet flowers of my illusions

And they are beautiful

Sounding out of the shadows

Like a mournful echo

Of you

© Ann Bagnall