In waterfalls she tuned her voice,
In shallows rippled hymns of time.
She reeled through centuries of song,
Her verses passed like drops of rain.
Around the foss her singing hung:
In spray and ramsons, sun and moss.
Her music saturated rock,
And flowed in watercress and fern.
Her songs were drawn from morning mists,
And dreaming states which swirl at dawn,
From deep in limestone birthing streams,
From ancient rains, forgotten tones.
In fluid walls and melting stones,
In liquid landscapes she still flows.