She.

I heard she'd travelled to Cumbria and swam across the lakes,
I heard she visited Scotland next, then Yorkshire and Durham next,
She liked a local sailor there and the weather was all so fine.

Her face was elfin, pretty-shaped and prettier than ever,
Her hair - golden brown which complemented her midnight gown,
Her lips felt ever warm and soft which sat upon her toffee smile.

I seek her during twilight and when the stars are well inclined,
To and fro she swims from Carlisle to my inner mind.
I glutton for her on Tuesdays and as the week draws near,
Her whisper is so slight, swift and fearless upon my ear.

I hear she now speaks Polish, and fluent Latin too,
I hear she lost my tender touches and canvas paints with worn-out brushes,
Her eyes were tombstone-deep like forests far and old.

I found her down the lake that night beautiful and serene...
Yet I remain ever glutton-full feed on this canteen.