She does not like the Sun,
Perhaps because she’s made of ice.
I loathe it when it scorches her,
So I seize its heat in my fists
Until she is content.

She adores the Moon,
Maybe because its calm embraces her.
I hate it when it wanes,
So I hold it full and bright
Until her smile returns.

She loves the rain,
Perhaps for how its droplets
Play upon her hair.
I curse it when it ceases,
So I shake the clouds
Until she starts to dance.

She relishes the wind,
Maybe because it soothes her spirit.
I dread it when it falters,
So I stir the world to keep it moving
Until she drifts to sleep.

She cherishes the song of birds,
Perhaps because it lulls her gently.
I shiver when their song fades,
So I summon melodies
Until she finds her rest.

She prefers it when I’m not around,
Perhaps because I delight in her annoyance.
Yet I despise her tears,
So I entrap myself in her illusions
Until she breaks me free.