|Prophetess by Alphose Muche|
I threw for you the most splendid sunrise,
but didn't wake you when the morning came.
I arranged for you a dance of fireflies,
then lied, kept you inside, said there was rain.
And so, my gifts, my gifts, are left to lie.
I spread out a blanket on the hillside,
then didn't tell you how to meet me there.
Now, I sit alone here by the fireside
pretending I don't have an empty chair.
My gifts, all my gifts, are left to lie.
For Fireblossom Friday