Classic Poem

One pale star gleaming in the amber sky,
Day's death; a thousand butterflies that soar
Into the languid ether; the downpour
Of flickering golden lights that dance and die.

Your head upon my bosom; still we lie
In the red-tingéd shadows of the wheat,
And all about the little singing feet
Of birds and crickets as they flutter by.

Love is beauty. Oh, lift your frail arms high
That I may see the glory of your face,
And in the darkness hear the quiet peace
Of God who lingers like a brother, nigh.