so strange
how you sit
quiet and late
looking out
onto
the river
gate
a long prolonged
sigh on your face
appear
to age the mirror
gaze
a smile may lift
the sultry pale
impossible is
not the case
appearances
can bring a pace
a change much
needed never phase
even to those
who quit the faith
so strange
how you pit
longing for wit
if only you could
raise the myth
be brave and take
by it the kick
and see the hit
rise and lit
transformation is
much a rit
and you beside
it the perfect fit