Dead leaves
Falling like sighs
From the full moon
and the canopy of stars
With the crystals  reflecting
Demise of the lark

Uncovered
walking on the aisle
Seamlessly flowing away
the fog is the curtain blindfolding her
Doors of the cathedral are shut

The prism reflects the imbroglio  
Outlines of bittersweet memories
Burning in the fireplace
Frosted windows with half broken glasses hindering movement

With a pale face and dry lips
Hands numb
she tries to write
Last few lines of her life