One day she dove into the fire of Love,
The sky in echo thundering her Hope,
Her heart a part of heaven, and above,
Saw Trust, the Great Magician with his rope.
He hung her by the neck while Fate looked on,
His garments soaked in Fear and with a tease
Of magic, he made mock of sunrise, dawn
The futile whim of future, and her knees
Knelt down upon the sand and then she prayed
To make some sense of Time's parlay of wit,
Her shawl, the fall of Eve as skies were greyed
By hurricanes which laughed because of it.
As storms brought down the doors, foundations weak,
She tried to rectify the lies and vow
To never let her gaurd down or to speak
Of Love again, yet she's still singing now.
........Sometimes the calendar is only met
........By days crossed off by pens which can't forget.