It settled like a wintered wax.
I could have touched those lives.
My youth and beauty would have moved them …
But I cast no shadow, nor pale silhouette.
So my hands stayed ice,
Stilled like wintered wax.
What tests this urban myth,
How do I know that “Love is all,”
It whispers when I’m still,
For I recall,
Those childhood summer moments,
When my heart flowed free,
And every breath was new.
World, how I revelled, how I lifted,
In the thrill, this mystery!
Before the winter wax took hold of me.