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.

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