I take the picture,

But know it will never match your radiance.

It won't portray the hum of the night,

Or the true contours of your face,

That lantern alighted for the fallen queen

Is scarcely visible; it burns all the same,

The trees rustle and whisper

With the steady autumn breeze,

Leaves cling on for as long as possible,

They are already dying.

Whisps of cloud dance around your false luminescence

We all know it's a lie — but it's a beautiful one.

So we gaze up at you &

Imagine you to be the natural nightlight

You reveal yourself as.