Her stories linger on between the blades of her teeth
though gone away again, marching through her breath
telling tales that any child would kill to hear
like a sandy, golden dune stretching to such a depth
that no man nor woman, to the foot, shall near,
and steal the crown that sits atop the Earth,
or break every rule involved with death and birth.

Inspiring, they burn my lungs and steal my breath
as it does to the ground in which the mood caressed.
the mood that switched and formed into a grip
the grip so tight, there was no hope as to slip
and fall onto the tile unblessed. this was just a test.
Misleading the most of all of us who know
but rescuing the other, more fortunate, few.

Only time will tell what such stories could afford:
an open mind, and heart, or maybe just less bored.
But all in all, her voice is tall, and vision even greater,
for anyone with such ideas, must see then, now, and later.
Her stories linger on between the blades of her teeth,
and will march on until there's not a single mind, left to breach
we should no better than to leave such whales beached.