Breezes of celestial sighs Disturbing sleepy moon-dust Into miniscule eddies cause Patterns so small, that are Yet caught miraculously Upon surface-minute Of a surfacing roll of silver scale Somewhere out to sea As something sliding up through dark depths For to see a glimmer, Pale and oft-shadowed, Shyly occasional; To hear, by its' conduit, Far-off keening spirits Of lovers' and would-be-lovers' lament; Those fancies-of-song Sung by drowning sirens Voicing, ever-so-sweetly, Their innocuous intent; To comb with pale fingers, in solitude, Drifting ribands of silver'd hair.
