As of the Dawn

A forlorn figure in the mist, obscured by heavy sorrow
Forsaken, might she be? Or desolate within?
I watch her, silently, till dark turns to lighter morrow
Yet still, she stays, as dawn rises from the night.

A pallid sun, it rises, casting faint rays upon her face,
Reflecting a frost bead, still resting on her brow.
Gossamer garments, her elegant curves they gently trace.
A maiden, so gorgeous, cursed to stand alone?

The wind, ever so slightly, brushes color onto pale cheeks,
Painting a picturesque this heart shan’t forget
And this heart, how it wishes to hear as her sweet mouth speaks
Yet still she stands, silence keeping scarlet lips.

And I see- Cascading rivers of curls, shimmering with light,
A portrait of the fair, yet of all which is gray.
For on her complexion, the colors of life are yet slight
Like a delicate rosebud, yet to unfold.

Alas, sweet lady of the dawn, do wake up from thy cursed sleep!
For the grief of the night, it hath now passed away.
No longer glass tears, or burdens of weight shall thy heart reap.
With love, my sweet lady, I’ve come to greet you.

A rose, the deepest purest crimson, to decorate her hair,
I shall find for my beloved, and she shall live.
The purest affection, the deepest love our hearts shall share.
And till we wilt like roses, our love shall bloom.

© Sonja von Bell