THE ALIEN

She is like living golden flame.

She knows not whence or why she came

Into this world ... and yet at times

I hear her call strange gods by name.

There is no warmth in her embrace,

Of human passions not a trace.

She seems remote, a thing attuned

To summonings from outer space.

And on each starry, moonlit night

She gazes long in rapt delight

Toward the skies ... while I weep

Lest the message come, and she take flight.