Through solitude’s blooming orchid garden,
A graceful and elegant maiden does stride,
Enters our lady, Camille Desjardins,
Lavender waves across an amethyst tide.
The flowers herald her arrival,
Blossom with each step serene,
As if her presence Spring’s revival,
All in her grace stay evergreen.
Careful she gazes upon their beauty,
with every floret’s form observed,
For she accepts her kingdom’s duty,
to see them on a scroll preserved.
Her brushstrokes capture and acclaim,
the trappings of renown and glory,
To skill and service she does bring fame,
And to great battle, and claimed quarry.
Upon her parchment she infuses,
Life into the artistry she weaves,
She is the favored of the muses,
Her inspiration the lakes and leaves.
She captures the beauty of color and light,
Immortalizing honors with ink and quill,
To bring glory to those who do right,
Her patient hands bear unwavering skill.
This art alone could be life’s labor,
Yet her talent flows without such bounds,
Her voice, her stitch, her nimble saber,
The quality of which astounds.
Her voice can soothe a heart of fire,
Granting peace and granting reason,
As a lark’s call disperses ire,
that sounds upon the warming season.
Her mastery of fiber weaving,
Shows clearly within her stitch,
The way she blends fiber receiving,
awe from those it does enrich.
And none would dare to test her mettle,
As this gentle flower does adorn,
Herself with not just purple petal,
But with our kingdom’s golden thorn.
A woman finely celebrated,
In talents stitched and inked and floral,
Does rightly need be elevated,
Into the Order of the Laurel.
Meddlings of the Minnesinger 