For every step she walks for miles on miles,
to memorize the waves in every roll.
The planet notes her tender women's wiles,
and copies Eagle's flight to meet her soul.
Diminutive pink roses know her name,
as art of Earth beneath her fingers move.
Yet she's not as calm as these, nor as tame,
to sculpture wolf or clouds to so improve.
Her arms will rise to bring the stars to shine,
her voice to echo sea waves in a shell.
She turns the grapes to red upon the vine,
and ugly things are her joys play in hell.
Yet soft in heart she warms both earth and sky
and blows the wind to force a tear to dry.