Where in the sunlit world do I find her?
In the pregnant orchard, globed with peaches,
Lit with green leaves?
In the Ocean shores?
They are loud with her footsteps.
Her amber tears wash up on the beaches
And folk go raking them.
In the beat of fire?
Oh no, where heat is, there is Freya.
Coaxing heady, full-lipped
Calling in beauty.
In the lilt of music?
But
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