Her hair the weeping willow at the water's edge
And from my windy crag above the moorland sedge
I see the willow fronds caress the ripples
I feel her nipples at my fingertips.
Her breasts are gentle snowdrifts in an open field
The supple fingered winter wind the grass concealed
And though the winter wind may be deceiving
I feel her breathing at my fingertips.
Her legs the spreading branches of the tree of life
The willow wand will bend before the woodman's knife
The tangle thicket parts before the forest fire
Her warm desire is at my fingertips.