As a leaf uncurled,
a tiny tendril unfurled
warmed from ‘neath frozen tundra gray;
as from sleep she softly wakens
knowing him only
she is gently taken by
the touch of his heart, his mind, his voice.
Etchings sparse on muted linens
swirled to yellows, pinks, and greens
fusing then to luminous orange, bright and lyrical, fresh, serene.
So ’merges she from her chamber softly,
livened to lilt, to warm, to charm.
There once lying
so quietly waiting,
loveliness that was hers to own,
so quiescent, once O’ so stolid, it may be said so much like stone;
there she lay forever sleeping
so untouched, unfelt, unknown.