The sunlight dips in swiftly
Just to kiss her porcelain cheek;
It lingers nought before it flees
While the wind pleas not to speak.
What ought occur in sequence
Is the starlight’s friendly dance;
To affect her elegance
And the moon’s defensive stance.
Even the fireflies delight
In the gracing of their night
With her added repose;
For even shabby, threadbare clothes
Upon a figure full of light
Would surely gleam and glow.