Evening Song
by Theodora Goss

Lady, take me in your arms
as my mother used to do,
and let us sail together
in a boat for just us two
upon the stormy seas — but you can
calm them with a word
and whisper to the clouds above
that scuttle like a startled dove
until the always-constant moon
shines through.

Then let us travel far away
to lands beyond the ones I know,
Constantinople and Cathay,
to where the serpent bites his tail
and golden apples grow
upon an island where three girls,
their hair bound up in ropes of pearls,
dance underneath the trees,
and Zephyr blows
an apple-scented breeze.

There, I will curtsy as I learned
from my mother long ago,
and they will curtsy back to me
while Zephyrus will bow.
They will offer me a single bite
as sweetly sour as love,
which I will taste with rare delight
beneath the brightly-shining moon
that gazes down so curiously
from among the stars above.

You will start to sing an ancient song
that my mother used to sing,
and you and me and the damsels three
will dance in a ring,
and the moon will start to harmonize,
and the golden apples will chime
like the clock on my dresser telling me
Wake up, wake up, it’s time.

The image is The Garden of the Hesperides by Edward Burne-Jones.)