it arrives one blushed evening
an elfish blue noon dreaming
on a breezy nip, with a quivering clap;
it ambles stealthily in our stolen talks
settles on the edge of the coffee-pot,
listens musingly the hummed refrain
you enjoyed yesterday at Dover Lane,
blows wafts off delectable pastries
of strawberry scones, and savouries,
nudges us to the long, long nights
of silken covers doubled up twice
where winter rings in a crisp rhyme,
about the long work of a short day
and how we meet for just a short time.

– Chaaru