She was a little girl with cherry tree eyes and the heart of a vespertine sailor,
Owned a compass made of sparrows and sailed to sunsets that wouldn't fail her,
And her endeavouring ship would meander upon the tidy seas,
Charged only with the dance to mimic memories.

Blue bells were the heart which sailed through shrouds of frosted veil,
And jasmine was the wind which blew in every troubadour sail,
Coloured floral emergent clouds encased in molten embers,
Her past was aged but not forgot in rainy long Novembers.

The arcane voice of stardust falling led her through the siren's tears,
Her sailor's heart not lonely, but filled with silent fears,
But dawn had whispered to her, the grandest star of freedom's all,
And her bark was coated cherry in prelude to the fall.

Her wicker broom swept hearth dust over her floating ship,
Into waters swimming with dreams she had once let slip,
But her wooden migrant compass pointed still to twilit skies,
And sparrows couldn't fail her, not she with blue bells in her eyes.