The girl she was is no more,
Her past, a scattering of driftwood on an empty strand.
He took the easy laughter and the wisdom of her words
And gave her back the same,
Honey-coated and bright as the sun.
But love to him was conquest and nights beneath the stars,
A worthy love was lovely as the moon and wise as the raven,
But his own heart was free to wander as the white stag on the hill.
She knows it, now that all is grey and dull as a winter’s day,
When youth has gone and all that shone in life had died away.
She sees him now for what he is,
His strength, his arms, his face like the sun,
All a borrowing that she has given back.
She turns her face to the sea,
To the billowing restlessness and the gulls’ mockery,
To the ceaseless shifting…
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Viv Drewa - The Owl Lady 