Her embracing covers, turned to shred.
She sought no end to her (writhing…)
She thoroughly regretted (everything…)

With a grey bow on her head,
Whimpering friskingly;
Seas of birds, wavering repeatedly.

This clamour, that made her dread,
And made her cry out
For help, for hope, beyond any doubt.

Ceasing to forget what she had had;
Stumbling closer to the deathly abyss;
Her straining vocal instrument, magnificently amiss.

Reluctant amidst the scenery, she headed ahead,
Across the golden corridor, at her feet,
Where the clusters of trees and the rivers meet.

A swan, she witnessed, sorrowful and sad,
Before her very eyes; her sight blurring at each step.
Ubiquitousness, lending its hand, to her, trapped in. (She was kept.)