Abigail is words, whispered in the dead of night
Abigail is pearls, so meticulously shined
Abigail is wind, personal yet public
Abigail is din, a beautiful ruckus

Bigail is books, every breath is a story
Bigail is gems, rich in her glory
Bigail is breeze, a soothing chill
Bigail is ease, with a bit of thrill

Igail is water, playful but cold
Igail is stormy, brewing and bold
Igail is calm, willing to wait
Igail is balm, soothing this place

Gail is half, fading quickly
Gail is worn, fragile and sickly
Gail is Earth, loving and warm
Gail is mirth, behind her thorns

Ail is sweet, and yet so sour
Ail is blood, of the hearts she devours
Ail is tears, as she turns to leave
Ail is fears, that she can't retrieve

Il is less, than sweet Abigail
Il is more, for she left a trail
Il is mad, raving lunatic
Il is bad, coughing and sick

L is tired, ready to go
L is crying, way down below
L is left, hanging by a thread
L is befret, the words she said

* * is nothing
There's nothing left of Abigail
No words left to whisper
Gone without a trail.