Last Time

The last time I saw her was on midsummer’s eve,

holding a white lilly with a sad look on her face.

As her light brown and wavy hair was

Flowing in the wind,

As her face was turned to the constantly moving air,

You could almost smell the absence of her hope.

Nothing,

Not the ring of white camellia’s

Resting on her head like a crown,

Not the flowing silk of her carefully spun dress,

Not the light pink color of her lips

Could hide the sadness ingrained within her.

As I studied her image,

Her loss of hope and intertwined despair

Touched my mind.

Her indigo eyes were empty and forlorn,

Her expression stiff and mourning,

As her mind brushed against my own.