Vignette

Happiness squirrels around the midnight blue:
The starry sky fathoms beneath,
Caressing the waves of Cynthia's tresses,
Bathing in the foam of love's splendour.
Oh! What ecstasy it feels,
To drink from the bower of hues,
Soar bright and blithe,
Similing the falcon of fantasies!
Turnstiles of primroses bloom,
Cuddling the love-lit night's feathers,
Guiding the wavering footsteps,
Metamorphosing them into a waltz gentle.
Alas! What melancholy it is, to suddenly be
Sore-browed by the twitching wakefulness,
And with a ginger-hot unease to realise
That this vignette erases to nothingness...