By twilight’s hand your form is drawn,
A fleeting glow before the dawn.
Your eyes hold skies both deep and true,
And spill their wonders into view.

Where ancient walls in silence stand,
Your beauty shapes the quiet land.
The dusk leans close, the breezes hide,
To rest in grace by which they’re tied.

The roses bend to catch your breath,
Their fragrance wakes from gentle death.
Your smile remakes the weary air,
And leaves its warmth forever there.