Sitting at night, contemplating the fire-glow; watching the flickering flames as they dance,
tracing the intricate patterns, the silver ash makes on the logs, I reflect a Romance
that never quite was... yet still glows in my thoughts; but softly fades down, like the slow dying embers.
It wasn't to be; it just wasn't our time; but, she touched my heart, and still, I remember.


She came to me as if, in a dream; but not in a dream... it is hard to explain.
From out of the misty-wreathed lands that lie somewhere 'twixt waking and slumber... some gentle refrain
one almost remembers... but can't quite recall; something more sensed, than one feels, physically;
with soft, golden words that caressed the emotions, and I was quite lost... I could never be free.


She was, but a vision... a feeling... a dream;
a thought on the wind from some far, distant place.
Quite out of reach; yet, enchanting... delightful; so, eagerly then, did I, this dream embrace.
And, that was the sum of it; it was no more than a dream in the night... a small echo forlorn,
of what might have been, if... alas, all now lost; as dreaming is lost in the cold light of morn.


What happens, I wonder, to such thoughts I hold for her?
Do they fly out... do they find their way home?
Are they the soft winds that whisper in treetops, or touch her so gently, when she is alone?
Her feeling that someone has stepped on her grave... that delicate shiver we cannot explain?
I watch the fire embers... the lengthening shadows; perhaps, in some dream she may come, yet again.


For, this is all that I have I can cling to...
oh, fatuous heart, these things just cannot be;
thoughts are just thoughts, and dreams are just dreams.
Neither have substance; Fool... can you not see?
I don't want to see, for I am a romantic;
I don't want such logic; so please, just refrain
from telling me things that I already know;
Romance, by cruel logic... so easily slain.