She walks in beauty, treading carefully in her kingdom before she falters and is silenced by the whispers in the ether. Still, surrounded then by sea and air and land she waits and takes her vantage point. Like an armada, the dreams invade and take romantic movement in her soul; daring to consume and scrambling trails in her mind. The high top, verdant hill from which she stands, fails to deliver the liberty it once offered as she regards the waves crashing from one gold coast to another. The surf teases forward and ebbs away. Torment resides and bubbles, like the froth remaining on the sand until the frog emerges from the water; princely in nature and deserving of the touch from her red petal lips. Bold enough to leave his dukedom to deflower the English rose and taste the delicacy of her sovereign state and powerful enough to bring the thunder that sets the sparrow to glorious flight.