The Strawberry Sunset, a Ballad

I saw a cherry sunset, likes of which
You never see unless it be bewitched.

The sun was dancing, waltzing with the moon
And then she cast a spell – he sighed and swooned.

The sky was starry, magical and mine
And love and art were whirling on my mind.

The girl who sat beside, her soul – lush,
Was slightly blushing with a cherry flush;

She conjured something – all without a wand,
Her eyes were deep, her movements gentle, suave.

This simple spell – or intricate it was? –
Had new dimensions, as its best award.

The moon was silly, mischievous and blue,
My rhymes and words – bewitched – cascaded, bloomed.

And we created worlds to sing and tell,
But it abated soon – this magic spell.

The moon was shining, slept the morning sun,
The stars above no longer danced and sung…

Her magic – was it magic? – broke, I think.
These magic spells: so treacherous a thing.

Some word, ingredient was missing, to be sure –
Who knows: the sunlight? Admiration? Sugar?

The incantation no longer worked
My army paused, my legions – rhymes and words.

The spell had fallen, spell of truth and art,
The army in the moonlight, standing armed.

I laughed and said: “Don’t worry, rest and sleep,
I’ll find you soon another spell that gleams.”

So goes the story – worlds that could have been….
Were never conjured, traveled, rhymed or seen.

The strawberry or cherry moonlit skies,
Her spells and words – were true? Or cunning lies?

Who knows or cares – my army and my heart
Are mine and free – for life, creation, art.

I saw a cherry sunset, likes of which
You never see, unless you be bewitched.

The sky was starry, magical and mine
For no witch a poet undermines.

The girl, where is she? Who could know or tell?
Perhaps she’ll try to cast another spell…

She needs a better recipe, indeed –
For me to grant her worlds and words so dear.

And so it ends, this cherry sunset verse  -
The magic spell was, gladly, not a curse.

She wasn’t bad – this graceful magic lass,
This spell of hers was lacking truth, alas.

The sun was rising, strawberry and fresh,
My words were free, the morning was refreshing.

I browsed the sky in need of better charms,
And laughed and thought: “She hardly had a chance.”

Does she exist? – This truly magic girl,
Who’ll cast her spell – the last of spells to fall…?

And so it lives – a poet’s magic dream:
Until such comes, my rhymes are bound free…