She recumbent awake.
Flickering flames she eyes,
her mind is somewhere far away.
Dressed in her favourite black dress,
the belief of being black,
yet her heart's painted white.
Distantly, she hears hymns.
Alas, in her heart sings a requiem.
They have gathered, for the feast.
A soul held repose.
She whispers,
"Now that your rose is in bloom,
a light hits the gloom on the grey."
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