Eileen

I'm not your latest grip, nor big sea, the yellow light hid, you ask about my lovers, with all their surly needs, they don’t have my number, what I sow to live, to break from the greedy, fashion my limits, find a palace of wonder, witness the creed, like my high heeled mother, red stones and pieces of drift, knowing is enough to bleed, it’s all within my gift, enslave or encumber, a lifetime near Innisfree, the smells of sweet summer, you make me sound limpid, by title or deed, a matchstick in a river, there's much more to me.