The ghost quietly leaves the room.
She walks away in steps of doom.
The only time she sees the light,
is when here eyes are closed at night.
Her tears are rain, that water the flower.
The flower of peace, and inner power.
Her taste of beauty in the past,
is what gives her hope of spells to cast.
Tranquility reassures her she's not alone.
What gives her hope, is all that's unknown.
As the rose pedals flow down the stream,
The ghost is at last, awake in her dream.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem