From her memory hill I watch after
My bonded one... and always - though I fight
It with me will and fists,
It's always that Leslie girl, who has
Talked me off my ears since she was but
A wee three years old.
Then what I know now.
Love is a keep-with-ye-always type thing. We pierced deep into each other's memories,
Reveling in the joy of an hour, not knowing
That we would always have an odd sort of shadow-life
In each other's spirited hearts and fiery minds.
"Greetings and most pleased to meet ye!"
That is how I was always meant to start out with folk,
And it's the one thing I tries to keep the same.
The other thing is this hill, My hill now
All my brethren long gone...
The last of the White Slog Hill folk, I be.
While I sit kneeling in her living memory,
Clear as a bell mind, but she still tries to use her
Writing to dig down and find me in all of my true
And most mighty primal glory. She tries, I say. And I do confess it's fun sometimes to
Zig when she zags.
It's not like I have minstrels playing for me anymore.
Something to entertain the queen. It's both easy and hard to sum up a human woman.
Yep - she's grown tall in these many years...
No more playing in the fairy circle at eye level.
An’t frustrates me so...
She fights where there ain't no fight to make
Against herself,
Against her wisdom... and when she does that, I pull back
The lobe of her memory ear and give a good wailing! Oh, how that scares her straight out of small and dark
Worming thoughts,
Taking her back to that certain slant o'the sun that we shared
To bright possibilities and buttercups shivering without fear. She's a challenging case, my beautiful Leslie
From the gray fortress she is indeed, as her name would suggest.
Locked up tight yet opening fully every other moment..
She is a time-lapse movie of breath and expansion She needs me to whisper strength into her ears as it was all beaten out
Long ago and went into the wee chemicals that tweak her DNA bits
On and off, and now how her body suffers so as to give
Her mind a chance to screw itself on straight. Yeah, leadis, that's me: leadis farnex to you I suppose;
Love is like that - she'll never forget me
Though she grow gray and a bit brittle...
I will niggle at her forever, until one lifetime or another
She blossoms full and strong into her radiant self already. Then she'll write ye some tale.
Yea, she will. And I'll be the one to go
On the sparkling sassafull adventures she conjures.
Ye shall see. Oh yes.