She's a vagabond;
a heart of a nomad never gets lost
and wanders like the gust of the wind.
But now she's lost,
And I'm keeping her solemnity
inside my glass of heart
like a wine in Christmas Eve.

Her heart redeems radiance;
dwindling the dark side in me in a
span of her love that will reach in miles.
A piece of art that will live forever
like a Gallery keeping them hidden like a safe.
               Her posture will remain firm and splayed,
And her facade will remain honest

She waters me with a piece of her;
watering the dead garden in me
and making me believe that the
roots can still absorb its source of life--
and she--makes me feel alive.