The vision of melancholy petite and fair,
Beauteous sight it was, but full of care,
A glance, and you could see a face of despair,
Peeping through an apology of a curtain,
Limply displaying its wear and tear.

Wrapped in a kaleidoscopic shawl,
The rickety arch stood like a sentinel tower,
Bending backwards, indebted to each petite flower,
Who never gave up its beauty,
But solemnly stood witness to every dark hour.

Muted sighs floated over the arch,
Tormented screams pierced every listening heart,
But no one stopped for the soul that would flinch and smart.
Oh! If only they would pry,
The apparition of the distraught heart
Would make them writhe and cry.