The Lady leaves her seat,
Gracefully approaching from afar.
She gently descends from her celestial home.
She rides the wind bareback across the skies,
Waving her lightning sceptre.
In one fickle sweep
She throws her purple cloak over land and sea.
The tempest rages!
It is her right!
She flings hail, like pearls from broken string
as she rips it from her neck in a moment’s fury.
An attempt to subdue her
Is like trying to hold the wind in your arms –
She is above you.
But when her anger is spent,
She retires to her den
To end her tirade
In tears across plains.