She cries at the depth of the night,
so no one could hear her sigh.
A lonely creature wept alone,
an abundance of grief not to be shown.
She kept that grief in a wounded heart,
which could not be fell apart.
In the morning she was not in gesture,
as she mislaid her last night sinister.
A smile on her face to show this ruthless world,
She is not weak, not to appraise low her.
She kindled inly a light to raise,
like a flower after drought bloom in first rain.