And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
from those fissures and folds, stories flow.
She is a rock, the storms, in their eyes behold.
Firm with clouds hovering, birds perching
sands castling, feet imprinting
she smiles there wide, she stands there low
and if you ask her about the moon's vow
love protracts out like a turtle's head, slow.
A zephyr twirls in like a messenger all known,
guiding the sea to freeze into a welkin for her to doze
and when she watches unwavering reflections from close
she could as well, like her love, choose to glow.