When I regard the short and sweet,

That perfect crossroad given life--

And since the two so seldom meet--

I like to stop and stay awhile.

 

For what observer could protest

To cherishing a fleeting thing,

And wishing it to stop and rest,

To hold it up and hear it sing?

 

But recognize its fading glow,

The moment one's excitement peaks,

Then turn around and let it go.

Only then will it truly speak

And show the lucky few a spark

Made more perfect by the dark.