In the depths of long September
Where the willow bends
A haunting tune plays a foggy night waltz
A wanton dream of whisperily glossed lips

Teasing me with a secret name

Ducking the stars
I caste my eyes down into the valley
Night-fed locks brushing against the pulsing moon
High above winding creek

Seek me

What of these words dancing up through the descending wood?
In amongst these gnarled, twisting trees
I walk where the green gowns of now bared boughs fell aflame
An intoxicating voice hums softly upon the falling leaves

Curious lights dance down in the valley
As I leave the fire shaded wood
Air heavy against the back of my throat
There upon the willow shaded bank she stands

Beckoning to me with moon shaded fingers
Slender and supple as the tickling willow looming above
Goldfish swimming through pale shafts of borrowed glory
As it wriggles down through the swaying mane of the tree

She smiles and laughes
And says to me

“Gean gáire Céadsearc.  Tá mo chroí istigh ionat.”

And I could not help but agree.

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