She is the wisp of the hidden dream; a strip of calico
And a princess in the stream.

She is the stem of the marigold; a button on a basque
And a courtesan lover from the days of old.

She is the ink in my pen; a belligerent eider
And a refugee from the hearts of men.

She is the inheritance of my love; a vestibule in my hand
And the wings of the seraphim flying above.

She is the snowdrop in spring; the bearer of my fate
And the scribe of the words that I have learnt to sing.

She is the tide of the moon’s sibling; the enchantment of the sea
And she lives with me in a place were we hid as children
Under the auspice of the ancient elder tree.