The North Light fades

under the South-Bound Train.

The dust gathers speed

as the horsemen gather reigns.

The poets and artists

move to the tune of the forgotten treasure,

found in music and nature,

the swaying of their weightless feathers.

The orchestra strikes a match

and all is lit in tune,

the musicians have caught their prey

and not a moment too soon.

The clock ticks on

as time runs out,

as the mice run about

and the men shout.

The North Light fades

through her studio window,

gathering moon dust in the night

that seeps into her heart and below.

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