Untitled Poem

As darkness falls with stifled sighs
Wrapped in midnight are their cries.
Passing with unhurried grace
With gentle steps, their paths retraced.

Heedless of the looming night
Their patterns weave in fancied flight
As gentle breezes fill the air
And summer senses take them there.

In haunted past they often dwell
Too far to see, too soft to tell.
Their echoes always beyond reach
Until they vanish, shadows each.


(Posted for Nercrolias, who has complained that I get to read his stuff and never the other way around.)