The gentle blanket of mist slowly rolls,
As a solitary and brazen blackbird announces day,
Slowly She turns, tilting towards the dim yellow light of morning.
For a moment, in dream, She can hear the sounds of yesterday,
The rhythmic metallic thumping on the dockside,
Great plumes of dark smoke surging high; the smell of burning wood and sweated beasts of burden.
Awoken by the sudden chatter of a paddling of ducks,
Meaningless noises of today break through, as choking diesel pass over her.
As a Goddess, her beauty was worshipped and blessed;
and then in time of industry, worth replaced love.
Blessed by man, or so she believed, in grace she willingly gave sacrifice.
All was taken, and nothing given in return; my lady betrayed.
This day, hidden in plain sight, favour only given by the wild things,
Rising each day, but without purpose, she longs to dance again,
Oh Nene, love lost and alone, now you lie as Ophelia.