The light that dazzles finds within the shade
A monody: seldom now it shines as if
The illuminations bear no reflection
And the zigzag lines that have cauterised
About her spurn the splinters of the day.
An old soul that sucks through dry lips,
Leaning on itself, waiting for eternity.
Turning she wonders why the spring has died.
No birth, nor death nor tide shall shift or sway
Her residence: She is about herself composed,
Drifting in the grey, composted and decayed.