Growing wings to fly is beauty and pain unleashed..but soon the pain fades away and recedes like the dark of night fleeing before morning light..

Using our wings of dusky moonlight, we shimmer thru the pain that soon is only a faint memory..

The tree where we met holds dear memories, i visit there often and skip stones in the pond that lays nearby.

It grows late, and the moon hangs low..only a crescent in the deep opaque sky..glittering stars hold their breath, then breath with a sigh, singing as the fireflys flicker thru the night.