Vines of roses crawl 'round her neck,

painting pretty flowers on her pale skin

as thorns dig inch by inch—

upper to her head.

Smiles are replaced by lilies

overgrown around the lane,

shaping edges of tomorrow,

of a flowing riverbed.

Lonely birds await their turn,

though the songs remain unheard,

for the days came passing by

leaving traces of a sigh.