She floats upon the sky shifting shapes
And you never know when the light will break
Or when she will dissolve in mist and rain.
She rises at times with the birds at feed;
Another when moonbeams caress the lake.
Her mood may be mellow or insane.
She smells of the hay cut after the dew.
The sweet, fresh fragrance of bread a-bake.
The mud and gravel of a country lane.
She can pirouette dressed to the tees,
Crinoline, silky satin and crepe,
Or stand beautiful, naked and plain.
She may titter like a leering limerick
Sweetly simmer in a sonnet romantic
Or break free from all form or frame.
Graceful and as beautiful and mysterious
As every pang, every desire, every ache
Desirous women ever set a flame,To douse such fire would be a shame.