She yells when she wants
Rather, when seen fit.
She treads on the flame that has just been lit.

She soothes in time,
Never loosing her tune.
The tides retreat, but seldom the moon.

If there's a bustle in the trees
The sun will gleam.
It's just a chore for the summer. 

For a queen, they crowned her
In May; the breathing of the day.
I met her on the lea. 

Sweet is the whisper that purrs,
From those wonderful lips that are hers,
That kissed us and made us shiver. 

 Her sighs that show our delight
Made murmurs in the musical night.
Still she was cast to the river. 

And the daughter is laden with rue!
Though contempt is known and new.
She wept to the sounds of the sea. 

There's a force of hope
Cloaked in smoke
Her arms in close agony curled.

From the golden flute,
Our love made mute
Beyond the wild way of the world.