Found in a rather balmy condition
It was inside such an ornate structure
Where she lived, washed her spirits
Down basins of verity

The glare of mimosa shined
Onto decorative butterflies
And their spirits did flutter
In her rather delicate frame
For there was uncertainty
On where to go?
And what to do?

T'was out of the wash
And into the sun
Sounds of a piano beckoned
From the saratoga valleys
Into darkening mikados
She had found salvation
At a quaint destination
Through communal melodies
From a young collective
Though not all in body
But rather in spirit
They held each others hands
In hopes that their souls
Would find a release