Chronicle of the Paraclete

She is well loved
among the well loved,
among those who know how to love.

Timeless, ageless, she floats on the breeze,
exchanging smiles and cups of tea,
from new spirited morning
'til tranquil, easy, cozy sleep.

Her closet is full of lovelies and elegance
all soft next to the skin
and shoes to fit feet and essence;
shoes that dance;
when she chooses to wear them.

Her shelves are stacked handily with all manner of books
with secrets now free,
weavings in every language ever muttered.

Her quill sets poised on her secretaire, eager to edit
and rarely needing to.

Punctuation is ever optional, endings are no more
and so periods are moot

Her vision is clear as fine crystal,
her body is sound as God's first breath upon it,
as it ever was and ever will and ever always,
as are the ones who hold her beating heart

Her pantry is stocked with strength and pabulum,
bread and wine to share and pray
Spice for remembrance,
salt for constitution,
mead for covenant

Her name travels as starlight
with purest invocation from breath to breath
held in open palms gently and with aegis

Her children glide joyfully through field and forest,
desert and sea
with grace, with quarter

Her work is pulchritude and wonder, adventure, felicity,
that fills her coffers to overflow with gold unneeded,
to pass to the young,
to hire, to make merry,
to share, to free

Her love was, hither, will to be,
resonance and harmony
serene sanguine serosity,
euphonious efficacy
and susurrant affinity
emulsified with sanctity
efferent synchronicity,
ebullient fidelity

To wit, to laughter, breath and birth,
the key to open up the earth
she carries loosely in her mirth
while wending star to stone to sea,
a wink to turn and dance with thee