Fairytale weaver, wistful believer,
An unfed fever - myth-wielding conceiver.
Set down as sunset’s perfection fades,
“Fear not,” - the deathly, pale moon serenades.
The sun’s chosen spark shall awaken the dawn,
While Earth sees only a sacrificial pawn.
As strength to a king, the queen’s steady heart,
Omits crushing spaces, as weakness apart.
…And so they danced into the night.
By firefly stars, and lady moon burning bright.
Weaving beauty from all that once fueled her tears -
Backed with the scar-notes of 10,000 years.
When cloud fingers float her back down to the Earth,
The first weary sun eye winks to her rebirth.
--K. Roessler (Sonnet 2009)