Her whisper disturbs the moth

He spreads his damask wings

And he takes off

Into the velvet night

Returning to me drawn by candlelight

He flies home.

 

He floats through the perfumed air

To the lilacs wild in my raven hair

His wings brush the petaled vine

Across the moor shines a pale moon rise

He is home.

 

The wind stirs his savage mane

Pipes in the distance through the misty rain

On the edge of the Loch we stand

Where beauty flows from his magic hands

We are home.

The Whisper