With my last moment's breath,
"Lord, please fill my request,To come back again, once more.
And not animal, plant, or man...
But the voice-box...
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,
And over time she grows,
To sing and talk and laugh,
Such delicious wine from her carafe.
"Wet your lips, my darling woman.
Here, through inflection, you quote Schumann.
Your sparkling spring doth win each day,
Flowing with the sweetest songs,
And cleverest things to say."
Milady's a maiden, sensitive to moment's notice,
But still pleasantly wise, just like an aged tortoise.
Now, at last, she's lived the full life of a lady,
She's called in blissful gaiety,
She's spoken in love, in spite, and in health,
She's sighed during throes of ecstatic self.
"Lord, this time was superb, I must declare,
Yet 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."
SCA 1994