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