Ethereal child stands surreal of precious form admits the tomb stones that have now become her nursery.
A child of coldest light that grown men fear and old wives whisper of in tones of derision.
The waking world of lesser mortals offers no lure for her as gazing heaven wards her fragile reality secures awhile brittle cosmic dreams and faded memories of things still to be.
Spells sung in place of girlish rhymes softly hang in the still chill air, icy vapours fall to ground while ethereal child plays on without a care.
Inviting to her games friends that have not yet lived, long ago. There are none that can be seen but she dances not alone.
Comforted by bluest dark night and held in the arms of an angel carved of stone, they share a secret for neither will tell.
Perhaps they would be lovers once again, perhaps they’ll give her back her god, or maybe she’ll just go on pretending she’s still a child and that her ethereal world is living and real.