The piano played a beautiful tune for her,
But she couldn't hear it.
The brushes coloured an empty canvas for her,
But she couldn't see it.
The bees made delicious honey for her,
But she couldn't taste it.
The flowers scented heavenly for her,
But she couldn't smell it.
The birds made a soft dress with their feathers for her,
But she couldn't feel it.
How could she?
When the world tortured her,
Till she was dead inside.
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 5:06 AM UTC
The piano played a beautiful tune for her,
But she couldn't hear it.
The brushes coloured an empty canvas for her,
But she couldn't see it.
The bees made delicious honey for her,
But she couldn't taste it.
The flowers scented heavenly for her,
But she couldn't smell it.
The birds made a soft dress with their feathers for her,
But she couldn't feel it.
How could she?
When the world tortured her,
Till she was dead inside.
