thou that floateth at such heav'nly heights
On feet whose steps are soft as falling snow,
In awe I contemplate thy graceful flight
And wish I were up there and not below.
I see another flying in thy path,
With child-like energy he flaps his wings;
His bow and arrow drawn, he shows no wrath--
The heart-wound he'll inflict shall sweetly sting.
What joy I'll feel to see thee falling down,
Once stricken with this small-one's poisoned arrow;
And thee I'll catch before thou hittest ground
And on thy future footsteps I will follow;
And rise I shall to even greater to heights
With thee, the princess of St. Valentine.
- Ash, Winter 1992