The Maying Queen
If one looks into the gardens this time of day, one may see a woman there. She's only just a woman, come twenty years, and has a loveliness that is granted her by her youth: when she becomes older, she will no longer be so fair to look at. Someday she may not be fair at all.
But now, young, her golden-brown hair half-braided, half-loose, and flowing down her back, and her face alight, she is lovely indeed. She has her arms full of flowers, and a blue gown a little grass-stained at the hem, and she hasn't quite noticed yet that she isn't where she's supposed to be.
She's even singing. Her voice is clear and sweet on the breeze--of course there is a breeze. For her there is always a breeze.
Queen Gwen! Re-intro'd. Hope this is okay. ^_^
But now, young, her golden-brown hair half-braided, half-loose, and flowing down her back, and her face alight, she is lovely indeed. She has her arms full of flowers, and a blue gown a little grass-stained at the hem, and she hasn't quite noticed yet that she isn't where she's supposed to be.
She's even singing. Her voice is clear and sweet on the breeze--of course there is a breeze. For her there is always a breeze.
Queen Gwen! Re-intro'd. Hope this is okay. ^_^