Where does this flow?
Pure wizardry, life so tiny – willful, warm; the light off a glowing hearth.
What difference will I now make?
What does the world have to show me?
Was it a mistake?
The heart, forever. Show.
And what is more beautiful than time, south of space and west of your heart?
Hands held. Worlds apart.
My time is short, what fear is this?
The fool of old, perhaps, his word was gold?
