Beauty of White

She walks down the shore to the quiet beech, She's looking for a hand in reach. She dresses in the beauty of white, Hoping what she's doing is right. She wears a rose up in her hair, Her arms are very thin and bare. She hopes that she will do no wrong, And she's been crying for very long. She slowly drops down to her knees, But yes she still absorbs the breeze. She takes her rose down from her hair, Gets up and walks out to somewhere out there. To where you no longer can see her, And walks to where the waves go above her. Now that you can see her no more, The waves begin to quickly roar. Her rose comes back down to the shore, The fine red pedals slowly tore. They slowly drifted far away, But they'll return another day. For as of now it all is gone, Yet it all shall return as dusk turns to dawn.