A snowglint shines. Diana's virgin moon: lighthouse of innocents; a happenstance; a wanderlust for the young, keen and new, who fall on love, and shyly, smally dance. Timid are they, naked the white of eyes. Likewise, they nibble a sliver of sleep Then wake to a whisper of goosepimple. They walk, blank-cheeked, blanketed, and make peep. So what is this thrumming coin on the strand? A pure heart that no-one has touched before. A full moon dragged down like a low balloon. A pale beached pearl on the wide blust'ry shore. humming, "come little one, my Delight! Breathe me a still breath tonight".