She notices the incessant cracks in time.
And portals she does seek to find,
starting with one upon her lip,
casting a line from the identity ship.
Yes, she knows that she can never be matched
and that the creative flow cannot be latched...
It swirls and swirls with no conceivable end.
The tears and tastes we wont try to mend,
because the garden grows from the broken shell
and it is here I knowingly bid you well.
You will certainly find all that you need
O fairy child, I love you indeed.
