With my last moment's breath,
"Lord, please fill my request
to be again, once more.
and not animal, plant, or man...
but just the voicebox
of a girl."
Then golden flute turned in a swirl!
with next moment's passage, I hear,
cries of infant loud and clear
and it's a girl
with boisterous dash and clatter
this child pipes out all that matters.
but over time she grows...
to sing and talk and laugh
such delicious wine pours from her carafe
"Wet your lips my darling woman.
Here through inflection, you're quoting Schumann.
Your sparkling spring doth win each day
With those sweetest songs and clever things to say."
a maiden sensitive to moment's notice
but still pleasanty wise, perhaps as tortoise
Now she has lived the full life of a lady
having called in blissful gaiety
and in love, in spite, and in health,
or sighed in throes of ecstatic self.
"Lord, this time was superb, I must declare,
but I've a thought as grey as her hair...
when it is milady's time to go
may I be the crunching of the snow."
