She lies about soulfully among the swans,
Wandering the mellow autumn woods seeking lost words.
She stands upon a bridge and sings of the freedom of birds,
Not seeing its finest example, mirrored in the creek below her flows.
She pretends of being built by rocks, shielded by steel armour;
Though she isn’t nearly tailor-made for the miseries of the harbour.
She possesses the soul of the purest virgin dove,
Deserves the praises more than any vain robin.
Wouldn’t utter a word against everything unholy for the sake
But just for the sake of holiness, do this mercy on her kind–
She is one of a kind, the Ichorine daughter of the innocent Psyche,
And of immortal Cupid, whose other name is love,
Treat her with reverence.
Do not violate her, and then slander her.
Name, body and blood.
She wouldn’t say anything still,
But nature will sulk and raise its voice,