The ivy leans, the roses sigh,
They learn from you how nights can fly.
The garden bows, the dusk grows still,
All trembling at your quiet will.

By crumbled stone your presence glides,
The night grows soft, the dark divides.
Each glance you give remakes the skies,
And draws new dawn within our eyes.

The ivy curls, the silence sings,
The twilight folds its tender wings.
Yet still your flame refuses rest,
It burns within the evening’s chest.

You linger where the shadows part,
A fleeting glow, a steadfast heart.
The stars lean close, the breezes stay,
And guard your light till break of day.