A strange, different world. A bizarre pain.

I won't lie down and beg for you
beauty has afforded me
a bitter pride that lowers me
in others eyes.
I'd rather sit alone and free
to think, than dull your heated star (by thought of me)
in my night sky. The only light I see.
The drifting of the Earth
would scarce judge me,
     so why is your pride
     worth more to me?

Yours is a widened road to cross.
Mine is a knowledge of my loss.
Victim to the same inconstance.

Is there no hopeful ending?

When I die,
might you come
to close my eyes?
When you look at me,
       stiff and white,
what will you see?
A (white-skinned) birch that drops its (dark) leaves.
A stream will join them in our cloudless sea.