Afar across cool waves on quiet shores,
beneath each rising sun her beauty grew,
as pure as falling snow, the skin she wore
aglow with radiance as sweet as dew.
Soft burnished raven tresses, black as night,
caressed her face then fell in silk cascade,
and honeyed tones adorned a voice, so light,
that echoed from blush lips in serenade.
As days and many months of time weaved on
she blossomed, as a rose of scent so rare,
yet of her many suitors she’d have none,
dismissed with gentle wave of hand so fair.
A lone and wistful silver moonlit stroll
unearths a song that strangely stirs her soul.