Her embracing covers, turned to shred.
She sought no end to her (writhing…)
She thoroughly regretted (everything…)
With a grey bow on her head,
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.)