The
Mute
Sitting sighlently upon
her chair,
she stared out the
window into the pouring rain.
She'd imagine she was a
nimble little fairy, dodging quick.
The little one would
create sweet images in her mind.
The days quickly turned
to night,
the night into day once
more.
Then to weeks, months,
and years,
and she grew.
A teen now sat upon her
chair,
still watching the
rain,
and the daydreams play
out once more.
Keeping to her company
in her solitude.
The years grew on;
again with changing
tide she aged,
from teen to young
women.
And she remained in
solitude.
Again she could be
found upon her chair,
gazing into the mist
covered rain.
And she'd fly through
the cascade.
She cherished her time
alone to dream.
Time moves forward,
but she never forgets
her fairy tales,
the off-spring of
country's folklore.
Still away to her
solitude.
Now an old maid on the
same chair,
turned towards the
window,
she saw nothing,
but clung to the images
she held dear.
Time progressed,
and she remained
seated,
in her solitude,
in the silence of life.
The day she died,
shortly after.
Upon her chair the
tiniest figure.
Then danced the fairy
as it began to rain.
Sighlent in death as in
life
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Siblings:
Emmie:
Eliea:
Forums:
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