"I'll Be Back."

She sits in a corner,
On a stool.
Black as a mourner,
Sad as a fool.

And yet,
When she breathes,
Heaven and earth have met,
And a raging lion drops tears as she leaves.

The wind, it follows her,
Through the door.
Making her hair look soft, as fur.
She turns golden, though she’s poor.

“Stay here,”
The sunlight cries,
She says “Don’t you fear,”
As its eyes she dries.

“I will be back.”