Stay, says Viragor,
I want you near me.
Nay, breathes Matilda,
Tho I can’t bear to leave thee.

His hair she clasps with twists and turns,
Hers he touches softly, kissing in burns.
‘Twill be months, years yet we meet,
But fleet should be our hearts be, sweet.

And then she’s gone, an orphan left,
Between people near but dead.
Stolen moments, sweet but misery,
Slowly turned dear, restless and finicky.
Oft-shaded heart and steady work’s a blanket,
A poor salve that, uproars many a racket.
Bent, slippery, tested and hurt,
But so doth love be stronger for worth.
A true refrain then, to ease parted hearts,
His heart and hers may beat to stars:

Come, says Viragor,
Been aching to hold thee.
Love, smiles Matilda,
When have we been free?