She woke upon the plain, all distant and alone
Nostalgia stirred the air, an acrid smell like hope
Lofty goals and grand ambition,
To them a dullards joke

A shift to foot, and all is healed
As happy as could be
All wishes granted, all needs fulfilled
For all eternity

Wistful thoughts are stopped at source
Still before mind’s eye a question brought,
Is it heavens crèche or hell itself
Upon our kin we’ve wrought?