She walks on the turfs in the lonely night,
with all her sorrows her soul ignites,
the cold breeze tickles her face,
She sees their silhouette on moon's full phase,
Oh how enchanting it was, when he proposed,
His grin was something she'd die for,
But thy love is not as important,
as to him is his life,
She never had listened,
When her intuition cried,
The night is different she realized,
Unlike other days, this time had flied,
Hours pass, clouds reign over,
covers the sky, the thunder hollers,
She discerns something like a dewdrop on her face,
Unsure she is, maybe its the tears rolling down due to pain,
and then there are more drops, the sky pours rain,
the cold breeze, the raindrops, a perfect twain,
the thunder and wind is like a symphony,
it feels like mother nature is singing a lullaby,
She senses something when she sips the wine,
She could be seen dancing to the rhyme,
she sways to her silence, her madness,
to her pain and to her loneliness,
Atlast herself had she descry,
The only night that didn't make her cry.
