1/1 ‘26:

Oh, that strange balancing act of beauty incarnate:

dancing on tight
    ropes through time,
guiding amidst heavy storms.

Cover her flame. She will still craft
in the depths, if she must. Where
power knows few, and fickle
eat bread over quicksand.

She is the beacon:
bearing the cold,      
    gallus winds,        
    through cackling storms,
          carrying illustrious snow:
                                                                                                                  regardless.