The hearth alight, the flooded warmth, the flickering light of home.
The mirthful mood, the shifting form, a moment here alone.
Before I knock, before I greet, before the welcome smile.
Outside I wait, inside I watch, and gaze at her awhile.

The busy hands that dance and fly, preparing their surprise.
The candles lit, the table set, the flash across her eyes.
Her tender skin, her puerile face, the windows to her soul,
The lips that hold all I adore, the heart that makes me whole.

The trees converse, my heart marks time as onward I explore,
reminded by this looking glass of the sight that is my all.
Outside the porthole, looking in, enchanted by the scene
Enraptured by my subject, enthralled by she my dream.

All is prepared, at rest is she, awaiting my advent.
Lost in the flames, reclined, reposed, reflectively content.
Outside I stand (within swells warmth) whilst robed in nights dark chill.
The silence serves, the stillness keeps my stolen moment still.

I turn aside, drink in the night, one long last look I steal.
and ponder all that here I see is just a sight surreal.
I close my eyes, send up a prayer beyond the nether high
And beg that all here never stops nor the ardor ever die.

Awash in golden candlelight, she drums upon the chair,
Hearing not the wooden door, nor sensing I am there.
Before she stirs I bid to reach and not disturb the scene.
My angel melts, the world returns, t’was all but just a dream.