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Wicked Game

Video for representation only. Courtesy YouTube.
What is this curse
that your beauty shall not be seen
by those who know not to seek it?
Your fragrance fills nocturnal light
and your vision mesmerises sight;
yet before dawn you beat it.
Which immortal wish fulfilled
makes your magic rare?
Why do you hide, consort of one night?
What latent sorrow will you not share?
Why are you shy of the Sun, Earth's own star?
What unspeakable secret do you bear?
Why do you tease the longing few?
Why do you make us wait?
And when we rejoice upon your blooming gait
why do you never stay?
Or is it your wait for that elusive mate
which makes you glow so bright?
Is it those wondrous dreams you weave,
which unrequited, leave you sedate?
Could it be too that you get what you seek?
That rare, unseen, in a moment so tender,
your glorious face gushes with grace ...
and spent and content you surrender?
Beauty is selfish. I have heard them proclaim
that it appears, and leaves, so it is yearned for.
Are you the same, bequest of thunder and rain?
Enigma’s kin, is this your wicked game?
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