The time she speaks of isn’t mine
I wasn’t there then
I experienced nothing
I missed greatly the divine
and trips to Paris
a braided bride
it’s not my timeline
you’ll still have to eat
under the frog king’s spell
the riches, rivers, and roads
with grey hair they can’t touch
she’ll spin and you’ll wait for the final
trade wind wish
where ashes and music float
I can’t remember what my feet feel like touching the ground
but I still hope