She’s waltzing barefoot down the highway, far,
There’s music in her toes as she turns.
White through blackness, through the fumes - a day star,
Or a lovely meteor from Saturn.

She’s an errant wizard, she’s fought the monstrous Dragon-flies;
She’ll let their baby brothers sit on her fingertips.
On autumn evenings, there’s still summer’s honey in her eyes,
And that’s when you can taste the Saturn on her lips.

Sitting in those timeless Nowhere nighttimes, Saturn begins to trill.
As a wild-fowl astray and calling for its pair:
On some wooded shore, she’s the call going up from boat to hill.
Then the taste of Saturn drugs the very air.

Of flowers, of gold and of thistle down
She makes an Argos in which to fly away.
Maybe you could climb in it and sail around,
Have a fling with Saturn and divorce the day.