What the Ogre Said
by Theodora Goss

Call to the willow,
the willow replies:
the little frogs’ eyes
watch you, my darling,
beneath the gray skies,
watch from the hollow,
liquid and yellow,
like jonquils, all guarding
my own pretty prize.

Call to the clouds
and the clouds call again,
to you, pretty girl,
through wind, through rain:
these elegant gauds,
the moon for crown,
and a starry gown,
are yours, my pearl,
my lily, my own.

Call to the river,
the river responds,
gurgling, the giver
of rivulets, ponds,
floods and slim trickles,
irregular bubbles
blown by small fishes:
I’ll tend to your wishes,
as burbling it bounds.

Call to me, darling,
I’ll make you an answer
you cannot despise,
the wildest romancer
with loveliest lies
inspired by your eyes,
surprisingly charming,
my pretty, my starling,
my sorrowful prize.

(The image is Inge by the Dark Lake by John Bauer.)