Sevenes Song (for Amelie)

Seven days they say, it took
to create every cranny, every cove, every nook

Seventy microns, a trifling, to be fair
is the enormous breadth of your auburn hair

Seven paces your restful bedroom, wall to wall
from which those so alive dreams, do cascadingly fall

Seven wonders, perhaps silhouettes, bespeckled this world
now drifting, now entwined, forever intertemporally entwirled

Seven days also, the duration of a single week
fifty two of which will render a panther chameleon meek

and Seven years, yes, you may count them out
we've had the pleasure of your company, without a doubt!