My hope lies in a garden, and the trees sing soft lullabies

My love sleeps in a forest where the summer’s glow arrives 

Rolling off of cliffs are never-touched lips, and echoes of newness where canoes stand adrift. 

Here is the the nymph’s home, nestled between branches long grown, intertwined within vines of the most beautiful throne.

All too well, the nymph knows the song;                                                                                                                   spoken in fumes, greed, and growls

Her home once the muse of poets, now ashen and dust; 

 her mother at the door of the husband of harvest.

The nymph seeks the cure, a brave soul most worthy; for in our tale the hero is she.                                                      In time her home will cycle through

Loneliness, despair, and solitude.

Midsummer brings no bloom; the shadows have spoken.

Spirits dash to-and-fro’, their mother is weakened; the nymph is no more.

At light she arrives, chanting her song, weakened is the spell that evils have cast!

The queen of the garden rises at dawn, her power returned from the casket of man.