Whirling (Kyrielle)
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A patio picnic ends at dusk,
And soon I drown in scents of musk.
Your arms, so strong, feel like a prize.
We're whirling with the fireflies.

The nightly gardens, magical,
Do much for us, bemuse, enthrall,
And while my spirit's on the rise,
We're whirling with the fireflies.

In gardens lit by crescent moon
The night will end so far too soon
For underneath the starry skies
We're whirling with the fireflies.

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Mayan, in the year 452 AF.