Your heartbeat is the thrum of a hand on a cwidder

It is the trill of a lark rejoicing in freedom

It is the counting of cycles of a cartwheel

Your help is the rage of a storm

The steady hand that holds mine on the rudder

The ward that bears me to a new home free of harm

Your mind is the clear view of a drowned valley

The width of a river now broad as a lake

The infinite complexity of one strand woven into the others

Your tongue is a call to action

The words that make nobility kneel before a peasant

And open doors no other can see