The Cycle(r)

Oh,how I will miss the new born sun reflecting off Your silken hair, as does the zenith approach, I will be the ghost in the picture, gone forever more. Those awkward peeks, never to encroach Upon. The remembrance of the sparkling dew, vaporized. The beginning of everyday, both a blessing and a curse, As the day of absence a reproach Towards the manifestation of your being. The dawn of new horizons, to poach For another pathway forward in a intriguing web. As the sun is stuck in its pattern, the coach It becomes. Correlated to the life you must lead, as you are a prisoner of war.