When She Sang

First, she sang me the song of mornings, giving the sun a tune to rise to. Weaving the words of the day around the early hours as the trees, hills and the day grew out of the morning mists. Then she sang us a love song, using up a few hours of the morning as each verse wrapped itself around us while we lay together, joined in the chorus of skin against skin.

Then she sang us a song of the rest of the day when we left the love song lying on her bed, waiting for us to return to it sometime soon. She sang of the morning, of the hillside and the cliffs and the long winding path down to the beach. Once down there, she sang the songs of the seas and the laments for the sailors who never came home. She sang of mermaids and flotsam found on beaches and tales of storms and ballads of the seaways.

Then, later, as the tide turned, she sang us songs of going home. We climbed back up that winding path as she sang a song to the fading day and a song of welcome to the stars and the night, and a song of what lovers wish for when they see the moon.

Then we were back in her bed ready to sing again the songs that lovers sing before, she sang us both a night-time song to end our day.