I wish to have my sand turned to pearls,
For its coarseness to be smoothed into glassy, pale beauty.
A string of beads flowing in my sight, with each thrashing wave.

Precious stones on scathing skin, amethyst and garnet glint.
Silver links coiling, enraptured by my neck
Fortune sealing, tarnishing ceased.

I think of Ophelia adorned in her finery.
Chains forged in flames, similar to my own.
The glistening weight on each joint, each finger;
Her heirloom to bare against her crown.

Now, in the depths of its mines, a piercing celestial inferno.
It's there I see her reflection, attracted by my shimmering peril.
Dearest magpie, my parting company.