Like a wisp of the wind
Silently she treads
Delicately like a snail
Leaving its silky threads
On a winding trail
Scars from a battle
She fought years gone by
Hiding behind red socks
Pulled up tight and high
There is blood on the rocks
Snatched from her oul
A gentle reminder
Of the trail and the thread
And of her stockings
As so silently she treads.