And she sang - sang to the night
To the moon hiding behind the clouds...*

Waters receding, tears fall like ink,
Damaged within, like a withering flower,
She wrote pages upon pages,
Day and night, night and day.
And as the fire calmed down to embers,
And as the embers forgot the warmth.
Her eyes wet from tears,
Like rain, they fell to the ground.
A quiet girl once sang by the shore,
Her voice sang lovely, the heavens adored.
And when the night crept in as silent as the wind,
Watching the lights in the distance,
She sat wondering why she was alone.
Within those pages,
This poem she wrote, her dreams, she etched between lines,
And her thoughts she painted without err.
Her words gave life,
Her words added color.
Her soul saw love,
Through another pair of eyes.
Her melancholia was the source,
To every picture painted,
To every succinct detail,
About the life around.
This poem she wrote, among the many,
In those pages she filled without fail.
This was her song to sing,
Her story to tell.
This poem she wrote,
About herself,
As she sat by the dying fire,
Looking out at the moonlight,
Dancing with the waves,
Kissing the shore.