Through whispering woods where the twilight sighs,
She rides with the hush of a fading sky—
A crown of gold, like autumn's flame,
In tresses wild, untamed by name.

Nude as the truth that stirs the leaves,
She moves where dusk and wonder weave.
Upon a steed both dark and proud,
She parts the fog, a dream unbowed.

Her skin, a canvas kissed by light,
Glimmers in the soft twilight.
The floral crown—an aureole flame—
Burns in the mist, defying name.

Hooves beat slow on the copper ground,
A heartbeat lost, then faintly found.
The trees bow low, their colors spent,
Before her—raw, magnificent.

And in that hush, that ghostly hue,
She rides where only spirits do—
A fleeting vision, wild and free,
Of beauty’s bare divinity.