To Sunchaser the Younger
Burn not your missive,
my dearest son,
for the love of
your dearest sun
burns too hot for mortal hoof.
Hide it, unsent,
lest she say yes.
Would you believe me
if I were to aver
each hue of her mane
is one she once adored,
the fullness of her light
boiling bones to ash
until color alone remained?
Oh? Then you're a fool.
Once,
just once,
she allowed
herself to love
with such purity.
Just once,
one distant dark day,
her fire found focus
on a single stark body,
and she would have let
all else lie in shadow for a thousand years
were her love returned.