By the fires of heaven, the dawn of days and fading stars of twilight,
she tread the golden leaves beneath her.
At the wicked sounds of aged willow grasping at the breeze
she shivered against the wool that bound her.
The walk, this path, so marked by frigid memories within the solemn night,
chilled her face with its bitter winds,
But the mighty star that broke the dark now cast night beyond the sky
And warmth touched her face again.
This night’s suffering could do nothing to delay such perfect grace
Nor overcome her in the dark
For maker of the daylight, her father, and the giver of the sun,
had already won her heart.
