Cold as a stone her lips were,
her tears salty as the sea;
but her eyes showed fires untamed.
And I would not break, she promised herself,
I would not break, I would not show them anything;
anything at all, no smiles, no happiness.
Deep into the night she wept,
her wails heard in the wind and caws of crows;
yet she persisted.
The morning came.
Small mystery in the sunlight, so red, so beautiful,
pretty as a picture, with her as a main character;
have she wept enough?
Have I wept enough?