Your sight,
when it swayed,
Distant, restless,
Away
Frolicking
into her gaze, it met
(And may be,
It meant?)
More than simply a fickle
Deviation from observation;
A small,
Flicker in the constancy
of your devotion,
as the Wind steals
from the Flame
Its brightness,
Does it then,
Burn as red again?
Even when the Light Returns
Or lays,
like a Woman Now Forgotten
Unimportant,
Usurped?
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