I am very doubtful with this one.
It is her last hours,
yet her face showed defiance
against the inevitable.
As the pain complained,
she recalled her past,
How glorious were the nights,
When her song summoned the gales
to caress the flowers, and in a subtle interaction
they bloomed as a symbol of hope against
all odds.
She’s not afraid of the path ahead,
death is to be understood,not feared,
yet she wanted to live,
For the flowers, whose passion for life,
inspired her to sing on.
For the wind, who spreads her song in
distant lands.
For the night whose ethereal presence,
filled her heart in swoon.
But one has to accept the flow of life,
satisfied by this thought,
she began her last song,
her voice pale as it might be,
carried all the sorrows of the world,
when the first ray of the sun
touched her face,she calmly went to rest ,
only the remnant of of her voice
echoed in the winds for centuries forth.
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