By WayzataJOHNN
Hear it, that so soft whisper
like the wind in the hair of her
the woman you still dream of, even now
Her cascades of titan joy falling somehow
to shade her face with love’s mystery
through which you ached to see
Was she Elven magic or not
a mortal, or of some eternal lot
she was, and that was enough for me
Her eyes danced with the light you see
part mischief, and love, and time
as complex as any mortal’s rhyme