Her silent lips drew a soft breath, like the mellow sweeping of a robin’s wing, flowing wind swept to the west

Eyes, no longer dry
Thoughts, no longer clear
Only the slight roar of the sea in the distance, as dusk came nearer and more near

And so, beyond all that she once knew or had ever known, she became, willingly yet hesitantly, a mere dream

A quiet whistle in the wind
A thorn on a wilting rose
A worn pebble in a stream