I wrote this poem about a year ago and this picture is pretty old as well, but I have nothing better to say today.
As the dusky sun sank below the hills,
two wandering pilgrims met on the road.
Both pairs of eyes shining with starlight and dreams,
the wind would take them where it meant them to go,
together they set off.
They laughed and sang songs of love,
of chance encounters and lives past,
at night they rested among the trees.
She sewed crowns of daisies as they lay in the grass,
her hair flowed like rivers of gold among the green blades,
he told her stories of misty mountains and pirate ships.
Her laughter tinkled like hundreds of bells,
the breeze lifted a lock of golden hair,
like a butterfly caressing his cheek.
When she faced him he could not see,
the pack of wolves she carried on her back,
though here and there he caught a glimpse.
Her eyes became weary,
day by day the starlight died,
and the flowers in her hair wilted with time.
And with the twinkling of the morning dew,
her eyelashes shone like glittering jewels,
tears mixed with dew rolled down freckled cheeks.
She lightly kissed his sleeping brow,
a single tear fell upon his cheek,
and light as a cat she crept back to the road.
He woke with memory of a dream,
he touched his cheek still half-asleep,
a glimpse of shadow, of fleeting moonbeam.
With a heavy heart he made for the road,
he saw the figure in the distance with hair of golden silk,
but did not hasten his steps.
A girl made her way down the road,
starlight and dreams shone in her eyes once again.
And then she disappeared.