Falling Star Poem by Julius Alexandrov

A heart as pure as the morning snow
A mind like a rill unmudded
an insightful midnight candles glow
a gracefilled bowing pine that ceased to grow
yet as delicate as thawing dew with just a touch all sorrow thence is flooded

But with the purpose of this icy crest
So all invitingly plain
Where to groom the room for carnial mans detest
What is it with flaws to paint, who is it to stain

For this thetic fickle brush of earthly lust
For a sparkling soul in marvellous white thirsts
But not one desperate dash from the most savagely thrust
could ever reach the transparent canvas that lives within the sunlight-bursts