beauty sits high on her cheeks
to speak
her lips of delicate rose
and eyes like the greying violets
of winter's sunken snow
beneath her quiet breast
she keeps her dreams
wrapped in a cloth of silken desire
to see
a life placed in a silver frame

look not!
upon the nights shaded in red
the poison ink to a faded letter
but forth upon the break of morning
for the sun is surely coming