The fear lies in the question of if she’s a flighty creature-
This source of the mind’s certainty it can level all the earth-
The mystery of how she works is her defining feature,
And the result is a fierce creation of infinite mirth.
The duration that she stays makes a blossoming core of Art,
And leaves no conceivable question to her worth or presence,
This invented sublime is of you no divisible part,
To your continual existence; it’s the very essence,
But were this frangible being to wash up on a dank shore,
Gossamer gown; limp, deject, and hair a tangled, deathly crown,
This column of your pedestal is free to sink into the floor,
So the bleak aridity proceeds to replace green with brown.
While she can thrive, from her let flow a breeze one cannot rescind,
And from you send that zephyr to everlasting wayward wind.
