She Craved For The Sea

I met her in the green midlands, a land that seemed fair and sweet to me, but she pined for the rhythm of the tide, she longed to make love to the sea. I'd lie and rest my thoughts on the trees, but her eyes went on to the sky, and she craved sailing on bright nylon wings down some mountainside. So what was death if she couldn't fall, what desire she couldn't make clear? Of all the songs I offered her, not one was the tongue she wished to hear. Every hour nourished her discontent, summoning her to another shore -- and to myself she made me look lucky, for all that I will is inside myself, if it's to be won anywhere. All except her kiss, that is, of all her gifts the most rare.