It is a strange and wonderful thing.
Like the vapor of a warm breath
Breathed on a cold night
It is at once perfect and fragile.
So fleeting is it, and yet powerful enough
That the radiance of it remains
Engraved upon our hearts
Long after it has gone.
Though the vapors of it rise into the air
And can no longer be seen
They are not lost.
Instead they wind their way slowly upward
In perfect grace,
Soaring onto the heavens,
Where they mingle with the stars themselves.