She has a Name

There she floats, rippling on water brine.
A yellow ribbon cowls her face.
Born into the finer things,
Wearing all her finest lace,
The lady of the lake.

Who knew that death could hold such grace?
Her silver soles are turned to tread the sky.
Tongues of hair, a lock about her brow
That shows no cut from knife or mace.
She wants for her tiara crown,
The lady of the lake.

But still the starlight questions how
And why the baby doesn’t wake.
A slake of aqua from her back, a question through the water
Of how she came to such a state
And who had stooped and taught her.
Their hard work still consumes her face.
Their darling little daughter.

In the course of her discord,
The lamb had learned to slaughter,
They never raised her any higher,
The lady of the water.

Laughter greeted her complaints, of too much love and its restraints.
They paid her petty never-minds, and never knew of higher stakes.
Something leads her to this place.
good intentions for the fateful lady of the lake.

The portcullis at her door would keep her half awake.
Her terror was her only crutch,
And only fools would fashion such,
And spin her gowns of pins that rake.
But fools she knew in plenty.
The lady of the lake.