Dawn

They sing of the bard's dawn
Pink, blue, enveloping crimson
Colours, you could see form
Over-riding the black of her eyes,
And the purple glow of her face,
Her hide-and-seek silver hair
Surrendering to the cool westerly breeze
Like a painting, frozen in memory
An equilibrium, sensitive to imagination.
And if you then ask for a goodbye song
The flute would be quiet, the fingers calm;
Just close your eyes, the dawn would be gone.