I Think You Have The Right To Write All You Want To Write

A Queen of Light
With all her wiles, the wild child beguiles
She defies all with a simple smile
Her life seems to be a dream
Flowing, pure grace palpably streams
Her presence a present unprecedented
Lament never torments the precarious princess
And though she becomes crone
And her songs turns to croons,
Like fading slivers of silver, she still rivals the moon,
The sea, the spaces in between
Veils of mystery, mists of what was, and could have been
And forever carries in her wake, her way, the ways forgotten
The grace of years passed, riches unbegotten