Portrait of the Lady as a Young Artist

She stays in a castle of her own making.
Fools in the courtyard with a jester or two.
Though the walls are made of stone, they're always shaking.
She answers to no one for what she don't do.

In the realms of confusion, she's the one who'll say, "I know."
She moves in her own time
And just comes to remind
That she must go.

She knows just how to walk,
She chooses when she needs to run,
When she's alone then
She can float then.
She can fly when she's at one.

A meadow surrounds us whenever I find her.
She walks in a garden wherever she goes.
We meet on the drawbridge; guards stand behind her.
She rings with her fingers the bells on her toes.

Across crowded ballrooms I've searched, aching for a sign.
She meets none of my needs,
And still I can't leave her behind.