1*Note: This small poem is, indeed, for you, Whitney.
Deep, deep down in gleaming coves green,
there danced a lady not yet seen
for what she was: the brightest hue
with locks of gold and eyes of blue
that with no intention trapped all
who came under her gaze to fall
in most perilous doom of love
within the breast of morning dove.
And lo! birds there soared about
from wingspan small to large and stout.
In unison they formed a ring
to protect from any fell thing
that may have tried to penetrate
their bright home and maiden's estate.
With ancient voices laden gold
their stories filled the caverns old
and matched at once with Lady Fair's
so that all who heard lost all cares.
Entwined, their songs spread through the air
and on smooth stone stayed always there
for those who chanced upon the sound
with ears and heart not by evil bound.
Upon sapphire pool, bare of feet,
Love met Nature in melodic beat,
splayed melded light upon rock walls
and ignored all but fairest calls;
to which they answered with much glee;
sprightly their words, like breathing tree.
Known never was the maiden's name,
nor why in caverns burned her flame,
but there she danced and there she sang,
far away from dread claw and fang
that would hold only blackest thoughts
if ever she wandered to those spots.
Forever shining, with fowl in care,
there glimmered the hope of Lady Fair.