Inside a hidden grove there sits a place
where lives a lady of distinguished grace.
Her hair is amber and dark like new soil
garbed in robes of blue, she is refined. Royal.
Lazy digits fidget with drapes of lace
and wait for his touch. But there is no trace
of kisses exchanged in such great haste.
In such great haste.

In air as still as that of The Great Tomb*
she glided to him from across the room.
His smile was pained. Her eyes refused to see
that he and she were never meant to be.
A tall weathered clock chimes in candled gloom
to warn him their time would end much too soon.
From down the hall there drifts a mournful tune.
A mournful tune.

In mornings wake she chases fleeting dreams.
as reality loosens at its seams.
All dark corners of her room start to tare
and she can hear his footfalls on the stairs.
which creak. At once her vision writhes and teems
with fantastic greens and purple which leans
onto her eyelids. And it's him it seems.
It's him it seems.

Inside a hidden grove sits a worn place
where lived a lady of distinguished grace.
Her lover came and took her far away
beyond the eyes of rotting and decay.
There they revel in each others' embrace
still bonded to love beyond time and space.
A love that even death cannot erase.
Cannot erase.


*Ref: The tomb of Jesus.