The valley kept her vow,
Until the reminiscence returned.
For a fortnight the cloaks hung still,
Until a cunning moon dipped to stern.
They recalled her voice had died,
When fate deftly stole his kill.
Yet I heard her sing the night before,
Though the composition stood...
Nevermore.
"Black and white hold no message,"
She flashed the signal to me.
When I read between the lines, though,
There graced a palette of harmony.
I listened for the past,
A conceptual art of folly.
Time gnarled the wings of lust,
And reflected was my veil of dust.ஐ
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