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Her veins flowed with beats in her wrists,
Notes on ribbons singing a tale in vain,
Her hair flowed a river of song, of a love broken and incomplete.
Her falsetto was a cry of longing, a longing to be home.
Every word she sung spilled like water,
And sentences of wisdom were formed within a ballad.
Her tears were made of ink,
And when they fell, her sorrow was forever written.
Her life was a song.
A sad song.
But in the end, it was a melody of memory and legacy.
The legacy of the Songstress.
