THE GIRL

She sits on the ledge
Staring out of the window
Into the nothingness beyond.
The moonlit darkness stretches
Within and without,
Like the enveloping arms
Of a comforting friend.
There is no sound,
No sign of life, save the
Murmur of the trees outside,
While the whispering wind
Serenades the moonlit night.
Sometimes Rain, the mischief-monger
Laughingly falls upon her
Pell-mell, wetting her,
Tormenting her, flooding her
With memories of what was
But could never be again. Yet,
He tempts her to hope and dream,
Until she is roused by pain.

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