The Way a Lady is Made (Ink Notes 7/6/09)

I'm participating in my beautiful wife's 'Ink Notes' weekly writing activity - every week, she'll be selecting a piece of music for us to listen to and write a story. I can't say my writing will add much, so at least I can advertise :P. If you like to write, and would like a weekly prompt to get your juices swishing, come join in - need not be anything fancy, it's just for fun :).



Song: La Serenissima
Artist: Loreena McKennitt

THE WAY A LADY IS MADE (JG 7/6/09)
Miss Lucy was a lovely girl -
Her skin as clean as tallow-wax
Her hands like finely-feathered birds,
Her hands so soft the bark would crack
The skin - that's how we find them out
You know, a branch or bramble cries
"Too smooth! Too smooth!" A murmur flies,
The woods speak to the meadow-grass,
The meadow to the pool.

The coppice always tells the pool,
And we - we wait - we sing the lay -
"Come quick, come quick, ye sorry souls,
Come find the way a lady is made.
The sun will slap your pretty cheeks-
Come, then! To shady, tinkling glade!
And learn the way a lady is made!
In our green and stilly pool - "

And Lucy came, like all the rest,
As straight-stalked as a paperwhite.
She cried the same old salty tears,
She sighed the same old lonely sigh -
No, nothing special - just another
Failure of the tired moon,
Come here to ask a little room
In the lady-making pool.

Her hands are clumsy - she unclasps
Her boots, she slips her stockings off
And steps on the familiar stone
That hangs above the lady-pond.
She stares, and turning back recalls,
And slides a stone into her gown
Then steps into the air - and down -
With a plash into the pool.

The water's rich with bits of green,
Like tiny balls of velveteen
Upholstering her slender throat.
The seaweed is a glossy skein
Of shining yarn, or else a roll
Of verdant ribbons, tied to trim
A coverlet on Lucy's limbs,
To pull her weary, struggling head,
To rest upon the cushioned bed
Of the slowly settling pool.

The mud is thick and finely grained
And draws her slow into a sleep
She frets and rolls to find a nook
Within her bed - the soil seeps
Into each tiny, pearl-like ear,
Across each pink and pretty lip,
Across, between her narrow hips,
And draws her neath the pool

Now, little Lucy, now you rest!
And let the little crawling life
Of pools your pretty limbs undress
And make of you a water-wife!
Ye marry man or marry earth,
Ye marry soul or marry space,
At least we ask but one embrace
In the mossy nuptial pool --

Before your soul becomes a shade,
Before your hopes are told to fade,
Before you are, a lady, made.