It was not but a secret
Her serenades are asleep.
Yet the breeze carries it,
Toned through wild hills.
It is no secret she remains worn—
Perhaps a thing of the past,
Where she lay—carolling
To winds of her wonder on surface.
A way is but a path to life,
Yet death doesn’t feel any less desolate.
The same lone lyre, played the very same.
Though, when truths to be told—
Being one with the mother seems
Quite peaceful.
The poem is a short inspiration based on the collection of Lucy poems by William Wordsworth. Particularly inspired by "A slumber did my spirit seal". This is my first one of many.