She plays with passion under the illuminated heavens
and finds joy in the way the stars smile with good fortune.
She charms strangers with her lustrous, silvery locks,
which ripple down her dusky, Stygian frock.
She escapes the sleeping, greedy men
skin as white as Winter’s hand.
She lives alone, widowed in the wilderness
amongst naked trees with unwonted camberous twists.
She laughs as the wind dances on her skin
and tastes love as sweet as rose petal wine.
She sees the trees transcend with sullen disquiet,
and yearns to join His solitary merit.
Earth is her mother, Time is her Father;
The woman who whispers to the wind.
