**Ballad of the Ever-Enya**
In the cloistered hush of a cometโs sigh,
Where star-tide foam meets velvet sky,
She drifts on chords not yet composedโ
A whisper where the cosmos dozed.
She brews her tea from Saturnโs rings,
Infused with sighs of ancient kings,
And writes in script the trees once spoke
Before the dawn of fire and oak.
Each note she hums unravels time,
Turning clocks to salt and rhyme.
She strums her harp of frozen mist,
With echoes pulled from dreamโs first twist.
Her hair, a choir of twilight winds,
Sings lullabies to solar twins,
While moonbeams pause mid-milky arc
To hear her verses spark the dark.
She walks on lakes that do not freeze
And feeds the sky with melodiesโ
A diet of eclipses spun
On vinyl woven from the sun.
And when she sleeps (she rarely does),
She slumbers in a cavernโs buzz
Where sound becomes a sleeping beast
And silence reigns like some lost priest.
No mortals see, no lens could track,
The way she folds the ages backโ
But if you dream in keys of E,
You just might glimpse Her Harmonea.
โบ
but she is accustomed to watching things of that nature in period dramas, including Boardwalk Empire. She doesn't expect to be watching something about the 2020s quite like that, though. 
**SHOCKER: Enya โFound Living in Cloudโ Over Birmingham** 
