Do you know how long it's been?
Is she up there keeping watch,
or committed a grievous sin?
How does she pass the hours?
Is she jealous, lonely, broken?
Is she calling on the highest power
to keep a safe passage open?
Is she contemplating us,
just as we wonder?
Will she know if we are off course?
She must be made of lightning,
thunder.
Must be devout to a spiritual force.
She can see the grove, road, and sky.
Does she have fear of remorse?
Will she find reward because
she tried?
Will her heart meet with bitter
divorce?
Is she trapped like Rapunzel?
Does she expect someone to
rescue her?
Has she cast the spell?
Will it provide the cure?
Can she tell that she's the sacrifice
on the altar?
What hell awaits if she falters?
The poor girl needs to be reminded
that she can never die.
Even walking that tight- rope
not so taught
Five hundred meters in the sky
with hardly another thought
but the fates of you and I.
With white sage always lit
it is for us, on her we can rely.
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