Quatrains II

Eyelids

With eyelids made of a stone

Never cracked before a dawn

He saw the ruins of the spirit

Stuck onto a flutterby turret

Highlander

Breathed you down and traced

Their smoke where was laced

Going deep with immense pride

As highlander whispering loud

Illusion

In the illusion of the spilled wine

The stolen glory began to decline

In an aged day and hazy mystery

Destiny washed away in Jittery