Troubadour...

And she there came
Singing Her lyre
Opening the charms of the morning breeze
As if in Her tune the moments freeze
Like a strolling minstrel
She there walks along
her journey She makes long
And in her flowing white
The Goddess there me sights
And like tune onto me causes a downpour
Of light as good as a shower slight
O how she in me a troubadour evokes
O how in her wet voice watery me gets soaked...

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