A Reaching After Dawn

His face was a study of sorrow,
Her's the light by which it was rendered,
His was the fight that he could not win,
Her's was the enemy to whom he surrendered;

His was the soul of sacred truth,
Her's the bold-faced lie of youth,
His was the failing of the common man,
Her's was the fire of a heated brand,

He tried to catch a star
Within his trembling grip,
But beholding the fury in her heart,
His hold began to slip;

He was not meant to hold her back,
To drag her down to the ground,
For he was onyl a man, alas,
And she a vision of light and sound--

His is the sound of rain on pavement,
And her's the fluttering of wings,
His is the grief of a dream now lost,
A vision for which his heart did sing.