Poem

You meet her on the fringes of some tale,
Trade hasty courtesies, and hurry on,
(The mission you're engaged in must not fail)
And when you look for her, of course she's gone.
She comes and goes as lightly as a swan;
Her beauty haunts your dreams, serene and pale,
You can't forget her eyes, the way they shone,
And though the vision fades, it will not stale.

And then one day the story goes awry;
The train has left without you, and you stand
Confused and lost beneath a leaden sky
And that's the moment when she takes your hand.
She is the End of Stories, and the Cause,
And now you know the tale you're in...is yours.