Weeping Song

There is an ancient tune, as old as the wandering moon. It floats on gentle breeze, of a woman weeping. It moans softly through the trees and haunts you when you dream. Her tears are like a gentle stream, of lost lullabies she will never sing. It whispers faintly in the rain emptiness of arms that never fade. Death and loss is all that pervade on her nightly serenade. Alesia Leach © 01/2015