| The Queen of Santa Fe
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| My memories are slippery and sharp, | |
| And coloured by the heat of her, | |
| Adventurous and sweet. | |
| Three months ago, I met the Queen of Santa Fe, |
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| Her hair as red and long as twenty seven years. | |
| She caught my English words. | |
| Her throne and duty may have been this city in the dust, |
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| But she'd never left her Isis home, | |
| A council youth, a river bank, | |
| A teacher with the petulance to force a lifetime long haired girl |
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| To cut her pride, to mark the drought of '76. | |
| She heard my English words. | |
| And spoke, exuberant, |
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| Compleat in drink and desert glow, | |
| She spread her history. | |
| She heard my English words. | |
| And dreamt her night in Oxfordshire, |
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| As snow caressed the desert lands, | |
| Where she will ride forever. | |
| Written by |
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| Dylan Harris 2000 | |
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