As cobalt dims to faded gold,
An ancient shade, new once again,
His eyes pierce brighter than the cold,
A love so fresh, a word so old--
A 'him' I can't capture in pen.

As balmy nights turn grey and grim
The street-lights substitute the sun
Those orange glows, so sickly-dim;
And yet they seem to shine on him
As wicked gold-thread, newly spun

As heavy boots crush skipping feet
The steam and smoke twist in the air
A new together, formed so fleet
We cannot claim to be complete
But we can grin at the nightmare