The orange-glow of embers
Underneath the sky;
A soft breeze, warm, through the pines;
Silent, unsleeping, calmly we lie,
Together our fingers twine.

Through dim branches above us
Flicker tiniest stars;
Beneath us, soft pine needles spread;
This whole night, this, is only ours,
And we are its word un-said.

The embers go out now
And the breeze dies away;
My eyelids shut out all the dark;
A dream of your lips
On my brow seems to say,
“I’m silent, but I’ve made my mark.”