Pools of night mist in her eyes 

my princess of dusk gazes 

into her wine-glass 

as the firelight runs across her cheek. 

Swaying shoulders and dancing laugh, 

the joy and trembling shake her 

like a blossom in a spring gust 

as she twirls to the piper's music. 

Dreams and passions 

reserved for pure knights in armor: 

my high one is sought 

by mad poets and gentle lunatics - 

and as the world rotates 

around her magic castle 

the sun sets, the piper rests, her lunatic runs 

 to chase the moon.