Though history may forget her kind,
Each life she's touched will soon remind,
The people of a thousand lands,
Of all the work done by her hands.
Through magick that her soul has spun,
Each mind's defence has been undone,
The beating of a thousand hearts,
Still call for her when she departs.
Though truth and love have been her kin,
Each breath gives her recourse to sin,
The secrets of a thousand lives,
Consumed in all that she contrives.
Through corridors of time and space,
Each dream she has will leave a trace,
The sketches of a thousand hands,
Will share what no one understands.
Though years fade into shadows deep,
Each memory her mind will keep,
The feelings of a thousand hearts,
Retained in all their broken parts.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 4:16 PM UTC
Though history may forget her kind,
Each life she's touched will soon remind,
The people of a thousand lands,
Of all the work done by her hands.
Through magick that her soul has spun,
Each mind's defence has been undone,
The beating of a thousand hearts,
Still call for her when she departs.
Though truth and love have been her kin,
Each breath gives her recourse to sin,
The secrets of a thousand lives,
Consumed in all that she contrives.
Through corridors of time and space,
Each dream she has will leave a trace,
The sketches of a thousand hands,
Will share what no one understands.
Though years fade into shadows deep,
Each memory her mind will keep,
The feelings of a thousand hearts,
Retained in all their broken parts.
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