copyright 1992 Mary Bertke
You beckon so warmly on a cold winter night,
you open your arms, surrounded by light.
But because of my learning, it doesnít feel right
that you could come so close to me.
Like a silly butterfly, Iíll retreat as you
heart like Cinderellaís as she fled in her coach
for fears and ill dreamings have kept me away.
Youíre a flameóI fear your warmth.
Instead of to your arms, to freedom Iíll fly.
In wind I am born, and in breezes Iíll die.
But sometimes I must wonder, and ask myself why
I cannot settle on you.
For a time Iíll alight, but before youíre aware,
once again Iíll take flight, and you wonít find
And youíll wonder what touched you with the
gentleness of air,
and youíll see me, so far away.
I rest for too long, Iíll forget I once flew,
be trapped, and enchained, but it wonít be by you,
by my dreams and feelings of what Iím síposed to do,
who Iím supposed to be.
once more to the windís cold embrace I shall fly,
alone, for my dreams, Iíll feel able to try.
if sometimes you hear me breathe a small, wistful sigh,
know I am thinking of you.