By Paul Baldry

She drifts where morning light is born,
A vision veiled in golden air—
Her hair a tide of winds unshorn,
Her silence soft, beyond compare.

He sees her float through every dawn,
A clouded muse in skyward grace.
His heart, a flame that flickers on,
Still melts beneath her distant face.

He dares not speak, nor break the spell,
For fear his voice might drive her far.
He holds his longing in a shell,
And calls her name beneath a star.

Each day she passes, unaware,
While he stands still, a shadow near.
His soul aches just to stroke her hair,
To hold her close, to quell the fear.

So in his dreams, she turns her head,
And smiles as if she always knew—
That love, though silent, softly spread
Its wings and soared the morning blue.