My song shall not sound cold to him
No, it shall burn through the fog of the moor
A darkened chain drawn tight with hymn
To pull him where the black tides pour

In my deep wave, he’ll find your hair
Tangling in seaweed, silver & wild
And in my scent, so rich, so rare
The ghost of kisses, tender & beguiled

He’ll not recall your mortal name
But shiver sweet beneath my spell
No mourning here, no weeping shame
Only laughter where drowned lovers dwell

Long & long shall he lie so still
While the tide sings soft & low
For in my arms, he drinks his fill
And dreams of you & does not know