Her Last Home (Demether)

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…