She can spin a full-blown sail,
From a serpent's ugly tail.
In rapture, you'd listen to her tale,
Until it grows old, but never stale.
Like wine aging in a barrel.
Her words are wild, but never feral,
And if, by chance, you cross her path,
You'll never know her words of wrath.
Cast upon the seething sea,
We all know as humanity.
Living, dying, acting out,
The play of life without a doubt.
That life's answers will shout.
And if the spin doctor's will wins out,
Then black is white and gray is gray,
She'll spin you a better deal each day.
I wouldn't have it another way.
Copyright 2000 © Ronald W. Hull