• I am but an idle mystery,
    whispering nothings into your ear,
    shown by the passing of a cloud
    and a frail, shooting star.
    When I go -
    all that will be left is a familiar something -
    A piece you thought you had forgotten,
    but smiling from a shadow.
    My arms are not strong,
    to hold up this world on my atlas shoulders,
    nor are my boots as firm
    as to cross the globe in search of answers.
    I am but an idle mystery,
    a legend breathed by a spring wind
    budding with lily-of-the-valley
    then dead just as soon.
    My footsteps do not echo,
    and my shadow is a formless whisp.
    I am but an idle mystery...
    Searching for the key to me.