She loves to make animations
Of little things that move about
She is their dotting mother
And they will never be without
The dark Thames floods her heart
With its inky black night
And drowns her little children
Their happiness, her spell of light
For somewhere beneath her tower
A gateway openly calls
To the ravens of the dark side
To invade her walls
She’ll describe her little creations
As moving creatures of light
Then the darkness intervenes
And they become the prey of night
From a proud and smiling mother
Into a furious mournful maid
The mortality of life is found
In the animations she made
