Her Last Home

Just like oil on canvass…
Touch of red, mostly black…
Thick are the air and the fog that hide her from you…
Weeps… shadow…
Cries … sparkle…
«She sleeps, she sleeps…»
Once in time, there she was
Standing by the willow tree
Longing for an old feeling, being his…
Now she is like a torn flower
Alone…
Among the trees, and underneath the leaves
There is her last home, she lies there all alone