Senses
Vines creeping upher back stairs.
No doors or windows.
No tables or chairs.
Do you smell her death in the air?
Winding staircase
climbing high.
No sunlight or candles.
No screams or cries.
Do you see her flowers that died?
Big door creaking.
She sits alone.
No words are uttered.
She is nothng but bone.
Do you hear her lonely moans?
Broken hearted.
Lover lost.
No husband or child.
Her love was the cost.
Do you taste her bittersweet frost?
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