Tucked away, hidden from natural light,
A beautiful star, that will never shine bright.
A glory of days only a handful will know,
The story of insight of a woman that grows.
With shocking clarity the moon does reflect,
Off of a body that nobody gets.
One of perfection, of grace and of silk,
A bed of white roses, with no stems that can wilt.
Eyes that see things, that no other soul will,
Sight that goes on, no capacity to fill.
Hair falling softly to hide a shamed face,
Tears in her garden for a life gone to waste.
Copyright © Caryn King