She, the fair, with chestnut hair,

Came from a land far away

To haunt my solitary lair.

Was this a dream in answer to my prayer?

Nay, more a nightmare I dare say

For her face was shaped of clay.

Her body no longer screams for help

The voice stays as silent as the kelp

Piled high along a distant shore

Waiting for storms of desire

To restore its dance below the waves.

Secured to sharpened crags.

My ship of love foundered on this rocky reef

Despite hatches battened against despair

No longer will her strands of amber hair

Glide through my calloused hands of care.