Yonder, she walks, a mirthless soul
Limp and lifeless as a solitary corpse.
Darkness gathers with no silver about
Isolated she be, in an island of tears.
No flower does bloom, in this garden of gloom.
Every sigh she heaves, parches a sapling, new.
Tune of meloncholy murmurs the wind,
Sharing her grief and singing along.
Could the sun not see,
How she yearns for his sunbeams?
Nourish her, he could with a ray hope
The colour of joy he could infuse in her.
Not she begs, for a shower of them
Spare her but a mere sunbeam.
Rekindle the spirits in the embers left,
Of a lively self that once belonged.
Implores this she, in a silent plea
To The Lord Almighty, The Hearer of all!
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