The storyteller is an orb
An aviary for her hair
Reaching limbs rise from her loins
Its residents perch there

The storyteller is an ocean
With tales deep below
She is a desert stark and covered
In eternal snow

She turns tales to the sun
Teeter totter to the moon
Up and down back and forth
Like some wisened loon

Maps in vain have failed
Telescopes have dug an inch
Of script upon script of imagination
Uncovering just an inch

The storytellers words are raindrops
Her refute thunderous resound
Her lessons porcupine quills
Her quizzes void of sound.