The Maiden

I'll construct her hips with honeydews
blueberries for her eyes
A garland rose will be her hair
a trunk of oak her thighs
Her lips will be of soft peach flesh
her breasts round nectarenes
her skin ill fashion from the milkyway
her heart from childrens dreams,
mossy twigs will be her fingers
strong roots will be her toes
the mountains edge will be her cheekbones
the moons silver rays her clothes!