He was a keeper of things,
like dragonfly wings.
Of items both stolen and lost.

A collector of treasures
from times without measure.
All priceless regarding the cost.

He kept them all close
the ones he loved most,
in rooms with locked windows and doors.

Away from the light
and far out of sight.
Filling rooms from ceiling to floor.

She was one of his things
like the dragonfly wings.
So fragile, so fine and pure.

To him she was gold
and could never be sold
to his poison she was the cure.

When he gazed on that face
his heart it would race,
and his breath would instantly still.

Like a goddess divine
from her place she would shine