Tearing the utter serene, of the long empty church,
An ingénue came, with her gloomy gray eyes in some search.
Clad in crimson carrying acute forlornness and inner fear,
Her golden brown hair were long and conscience was so clear.
Adorned by splendor of her shining secret smile,
Drifted away all unsacred emotions for a while.
Echo of sepulchral voice with tintinnabulation of the bell,
Screaming silence of her grief, those murmuring words yell.
Glittering teary eyes, laden with deep despair,
Entwined an innocent purity in her prolonged prayer.
Unbroken weep, told the story of her sorrow,
But Real devotion, for sure brings great joy on the morrow.
Until the wester glory shadowed the skies,
Devoid of hollowness, stayed with no guise.
Naught around akin to that Surreptitious pain,
As stormy night fades, so her sufferings will be waned.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.