Who Says Emotional Breakdowns Are Childish?
"That better not get on my shoes." Rizzo thought to herself as she squeezed past Lulu Lamar on the sidewalk. Lulu was taking her dog to do its business outside the grocery store (which was better than inside the store) but Rizzo had just slipped on her "I look very professional today, don't I?" pumps that matched her power suit, ripe for her impending job interviews. Just as the two women locked eyes, the dog did a 180 degree spin and somehow managed to spray Rizzo with a stream of pee.
"Are you freaking kidding me?!" Rizzo screamed as she jumped back away from the dog.
Lulu managed to look unbothered by the fact that her dog had pissed on Rizzo. "Oh yea, sorry about that," Lulu said nonchalantly.
"This is not ok at all!" Rizzo exclaimed. "This is the only pair of dress shoes I own and I have a job interview for bank teller position in 15 minutes!"
"Ya know, pee washes off," Lulu said with an air of sarcasm.
"Yea, but my shoes are gonna smell like piss for the next six months! You better buy me new pair Lulu, or else I'm gonna take you to The Court of Appeals."
Rizzo had once slept on pieces of a ratty law textbook. Sometimes, to up the intellectual factor, she used the terms in her everyday conversation. Although she didn't know it, she used the terms wrong most of the time-like now.
"Hell no," screeched Lulu, "I'm not paying you back, It was your own fault that you walked into his stream of piss!"
"NOOOOOOOOO IT WAS NOT!!!!!" Your dog has shitty aim!" Rizzo yelled.
"Nuh uh......screw you Rizzo. You think just because you live in a subway car and you are jobless the whole world should take it easy on you. Well fuck that! Guess what, I'm not gonna do that this time because the real world sucks. Get used to it.
By this point in the conversation, the veins were popping out of Rizzo's temples and her face was an abnormal shade of burgundy. "AHHHHHHH!!!! I HATE YOU, YOU BITCH!!!!" Rizzo screamed.
She threw her bagel and coffee into the metal trashcan on the sidewalk, took off her heels, and got ready. Expecting her to charge, Lulu was bent down in a ball on the ground covering her head. Rizzo ran the other way. Away from Lulu. She sped down the street and basically Tasmanian Deviled her way into the bakery. She demanded a blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese. NOW.
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Friday, May 9, 2008
Into thin air
The police arrived at nine the next morning. I awoke to his empty apartment in my dress and pumps from the previous day.
I had dreamed that he had returned
and had apologized for scaring me.....
but that was just a dream.
I quickly dialed 911 to file a missing persons report and anxiously waited for the police to come.
They came soon enough.
I gave them his physical description and that's when I lost it.
With tears streaming down my face, I spilled my life story to the two, awestruck policemen. I told them that my father had recently died, and that he and my boyfriend had been the only two important people in my life.
I realized in that second that without Him, I was completely and utterly alone.
"Why is someone screaming?" I thought angrily as I rolled out of bed to look out the window.
I saw two ladies and a dog. The one with the nice suit was screaming and throwing a hissy fit while the other one was frantically trying to calm both the hysterical
lady and the terrified dog.
Oh my God.
I really hate it when people overreact.
I went to my fridge to get a beer.
It was 2 pm in the afternoon...had I really slept that long?
I looked at the clock again.
Apparently I had.
I went and sat on the couch, sipping my cold beer.
I closed my eyes and drifted back into the past.
"I'm so sorry, ma'am, but I am afraid that we have done everything we can." The policeman took a bite of his donut and looked down at the file. " There are just no leads.....I'm so sorry, but this is just a dead-end case."
"What do you mean by 'dead-end'? My boyfriend is missing and there is nothing you can do about it? Do you understand that he has to be somewhere! People don't just disappear into thin air!" I was screaming, hysterical. I hadn't slept or ate in three days. I was constantly by the phone, waiting for that helpful call.....that never came.
Weeks passed and the police filed his case as a cold case.
Weeks passed and the more he began to fade into my memory, the more I began to sink into darkness.
I no longer felt like living in New York...everything reminded me of him. I saw him on the subway; I saw us walking in Times Square, window shopping in So Ho.
I couldn't muster up the strength to pack up his belongings. I slept in his shirts, breathing in his scent.
One day, while I was taking a shower, I slipped and fell and slit my wrist on a shard of broken glass. The pain was amazing.....I wanted more.
I started to look for anything sharp to cut myself with. Every time I watched the blood trickle down my wrist, I was exhilarated.
I jolted awake and stared at the blank wall that was facing me.
I know what to do.
I got up from the couch and went into my room.
I pulled a large trunk from underneath my bed and slowly opened it.....holding my breath, scared to look inside.
I pulled out a sun dress and my red pumps. I quickly slipped the dress over my head and carefully placed the pumps on my slender feet. The dress hung limply from my thin frame....God, had I really lost that much weight?
I ruffled around in the chest until I found my lipstick and perfume. After applying both, I went back to the chest to retrieve one more thing.
After placing the picture in the pocket of my dress, I looked into my compact mirror and smiled.
I took one last glance at my shabby, gray apartment as I skipped out of my door.
I felt the cold air kiss my skin, giving me goose bumps as I walked off the elevator. People in the apartment building looked at me like I was crazy, wearing a summer dress in the middle of the winter. I didn't care, though. I finally knew what I was doing.
The wind was bitter, but I closed my eyes and let it embrace me with its icy arms.
I clutched his picture that was in my pocket and walked on.
I heard whispers of gossip...someone named Fil died this morning....how silly I was for wearing a spring dress.....how terrible the weather has been.
I kept walking.
I had no clue where I was going.....the only thing that I knew was that I was going to disappear..
"but people aren't able to just simply disappear," people will say when they can't find me anywhere.
"Why?" I think. "My boyfriend did."
It was early. Lillith reflected on the cool early morning air as she made her way down to the subway station. The dirty feel and smell filled her senses as she walked down the stairway to reach the first train of the day at 5:30. What a miserable place this is, filled with miserable people Lillith thought to herself, and, as she did so, grinned. This was the type of place for her. Where people huddled together in filth that never seemed to be cleaned to go to places that they hated and continued to hate more each and every day, it was wonderful. As she moved to the open car, a white number one smugged with dirt and grime placed on its doors, she noticed a woman towards the back of the car. Lillith walked into the car, took a seat, and watched as the woman, who seemed to have a lot on her mind, went about picking up her stuff. The woman looked up and at Lillith,
"What?" she asked irately. Lillith just smiled a condescending smile,
"So sorry, didn't mean to treat you like a spectacle." Lillith didn't even bother to wait to see what the woman's next reaction was. The train started.
...................................................
A few hours later Lillith got off the dingy number one train and prepared to emerge once more into the grungy haze that was Washington Heights, but that was not what greeted her. The sunlight hit her face and caused her to throw her hands up to protect her eyes. Since when does the sun shine here? Lillith made her way onward to her shop The Wrath, when she noticed that a branch from a tree in the park she was now in front of had fallen, an old woman was standing over what appeared to be the body of a young child. Lillith stood and stared at the scene before her wearing a blank expression as she took in all that had obviously happened and what that meant, then she turned and jay-walked across the street to her shop. The dog was gone, the cheery lighting in the shop was gone, no remnants of that other woman remained. Lillith smiled to herself as she went in and, even though the sun was shining, believed that, considering all the misery she had seen thus far, today was going to be a wonderful day.
restoration.
When Chloe woke up in the morning, the sun shown through her bedroom curtains and onto her face, waking her abruptly from her sleep. She hadn't experienced sunlight for the longest time. She slipped out of bed and opened the window, sticking her head out.
She walked into the kitchen and made herself toast with apple butter.
A few hours later Chloe walked on the street and passed a woman who was yelling at someone adamantly. Apparently the dog had peed on her. Chloe couldn't help but laugh to herself as she walked on down the street. She sat on the park bench for a long time, absorbing the sunlight for the first time in several months. It warmed her insides, making her shoulders rosy. She got up and walked several blocks before she heard a crowd gathering. An ambulance closed its doors and put on its siren, speeding away.
"What happened?" Chloe asked someone in the crowd. A old woman was standing on the outskirts answered.
"I'm not entirely sure. They took a man away. I think he's dead." Her voice was quiet, but without much emotion.
Chloe couldn't deal with any more death. She left the scene and headed back to her apartment. When she got there she opened her window and let fresh air fill the room. A neighborhood cat came by her window and she petted it silently. The tabby purred contently and came into her apartment. She found some tuna in the cabinet and the cat ate happily and then curled up on her bed. Chloe undressed and went into bed, thinking about death, and happiness, and family, and the poor man that died earlier that day. She wanted to know his story, what happened, who he was leaving behind, and all of the things she hoped people would wonder about her. The day grew into night and Chloe got in the shower. The water slipped down her body, and she turned the cold knob one, until the water was as cold as ice, making her shiver violently. She got out, dried off, and went to bed.
She again pulled the covers up over her chin and fell into a deep sleep.
Here and now is where Lola decided she wanted to be. She could not let the past haunt her anymore. She was going to do something that she should have done immediately after her 347 wrong turns off of overpass 19 and into Washington Heights. She was going to leave. As she was lulled back and forth by the rickety rocking of the train, she stared out past the sullied sights into her future. Washington Heights was full of painful memories that consumed her thoughts, so she had to get away. Out of the corner of her eye, Lola saw Rizzo Sprayberry sitting and cussing at her shoes, a half-eaten bagel sitting next to her on the dirty seat. Rizzo was hissing something about how her only good pair of shoes was ruined by a pissing dog with bad aim. How awful, thought Lola, those poor, pissy shoes.
Lola went back to staring out the cloudy window just as the train lurched to a halt. She stood up and went to the door as it opened with a gust of fresh, sunshiny air. How very lovely and refreshing it was to see sun and smell air that was not filled with the suffocating dirt and fog of Washington Heights. She strolled down the splendidly sunny sidewalk toward the door to her bright future.
"Welcome to Happy Trails travel agency," a cheery lady behind a desk said as Lola entered the sparkling office.
"I need to book a trip to Las Vegas," said Lola.
"Would you like that to be round trip or one way dear?" the lovely lady asked.
"One way!" Lola said as a smile stretched across her face. "I will not be coming back."
"Okay, well that’s easy enough. When would you like to leave?"
"Is tomorrow too soon?" asked Lola.
"Um...no. That is just fine honey. You can leave as soon as tomorrow afternoon."
"I’ll take it!" giggled Lola.
As Lola left the office, she spotted an ice cream truck across the street. Now she could get her rocket pop. That would be the perfect ending to her day.
********
The train pulled back into the Washington Heights subway station. Lola licked the last drop of happiness off of her popsicle stick and saw that a storm was rolling into Washington Heights...as usual. Lola hurried back to her apartment. She had quite a bit to pack before the morning. She packed her belongings to the sound of cracking thunder and the torrential downpour taking place outside. But nothing could rain on her parade. Lola was able to stuff everything into one big bag that she would have to drag, but at least she would have everything. She fell asleep with thoughts of Vegas dancing in her head.
********
Lola was awakened by a tiny trickle of sun shining in her eyes. She couldn’t believe there was actually sun in Washington Heights. How befitting: sun on the day she was leaving, Lola thought bitterly. But then she thought perhaps the sun is just a sign of what is awaiting her. She dragged her bag out the door and left her key under the mat. As Lola dragged her bag toward the subway station, she saw the poor little Fil crushed beneath the branches of the very tree that had been his home. At least Lola thought at least he is free from the cold grasp of Washington Heights. Lola turned into the subway and did not look back.
********
Lola felt the train approach her final destination. She took a pair of beautiful pumps from her bag and handed them to Rizzo Sprayberry as she stepped into the hopeful sunshine, and the doors of the train to Washington Heights closed on her forever. Lola smiled. Here I go!
Here comes the sun.
Henry DuPont
It had been five days since Henry had been offered a paid education at the Baltimore School of Fashion and Design, and he couldn't get it off of his mind. With each passing day, he had become more and more anxious to get out of Washington Heights. He'd had enough of the rain, enough of the dirt, enough of the creepy, sketchy happenings of the neighborhood. He wanted a job - a real job. Henry hadn't had a job since high school. When his grandmother died and left him a considerable sum of money, Henry hadn't needed a job - so he hadn't bothered to find one. He spent most of his time thinking about Dorothy. Besides, who would ever want a gay cross-dresser to work for him?
But now, Henry realized, he had a chance. He could be in charge of his own career, design clothes, and still keep Dorothy under wraps. So he'd sent in the application to the school, and now he was playing the waiting game.
Dawn had just broken over Washington Heights, and strangly, the sun was actually visible. In fact, there wasn't a cloud in the sky! Henry seized the opportunity to go out. He didn't know what he would do, or where he would go, but he was so nervous about his application that he hadn't been able to sleep, and he had to get moving.
So Henry walked down the eleven flights of stairs and out the front door of the building. He turned and walked down the street towards the bakery, eager for a fresh bagel and a cup of tea. In his blinding happiness, Henry hadn't noticed the flashing emergency lights on the other side of the building.
Henry walked into the bakery and waited behind a lady in a business suit, who was almost yelling her order. "One blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese. Pronto." She reeked of urine, but Henry was polite and didn't make a face. As the woman turned sharply, spinning on the heel of her pump (which made her about four inches taller than Henry), she looked down at Henry and gave him a cold stare. "What are you looking at?" Henry looked down as the woman brushed passed him. She was obviously in a bad mood - maybe because she smelled like pee.
Henry ordered his bagel and tea, sat down on a bench outside, and ate it slowly. When he finished, he strolled back towards Washington Heights.
Then he noticed the lights that he'd been oblivious to earlier. There were red lights, blue lights, white lights, spinning around and bouncing off the buildings. As he rounded the corner, he saw a group of people gathered by a big tree. Henry wasn't a nosey person, but he was curious, and approached the huddled group of people.
He didn't need to ask anybody what had happened, for what he saw and what he heard gave him a clear picture of what happened. "Poor soul..." "I can't believe he lived up there..." "He was just a boy..." "...he doesn't have parents..." The crowd murmured, looking at the ground under the tree.
On the ground was a little boy, no more than 10. He had been crushed by a tree branch. Henry could barely see anything, but he didn't want to see any more, so he walked away. He was in shock. Why, on a day so emotionally miserable, was the sun shining so brightly?
Henry walked back into the gloomy building of Washington Heights. He'd forgotten to get yesterday's mail - Dorothy had been too busy getting primped up to go out - so he headed towards the mailboxes. He sulkingly retrieved his mail and walked up the eleven flights to his apartment. It was only 8 a.m., but Henry felt tired. He couldn't stop thinking about the boy.
It wasn't until Henry threw the mail casually across the kitchen counter that he noticed it. The envelope flew out of some coupon book and came to a standstill facing him. It was addressed to Henry DuPont. It had an official red crest on it. When Henry looked closer, the crest read, "Baltimore School of Fashion and Design." And there, underneath the stamp on the bottom right corner of the envelope were the words, "Congratulations on your acceptance!"
It was a sunny day in Washington Heights. It was the first time something truly tragic had happened to someone in a long time. It was also the first time that, for Henry, something truly magical had happened. He was going to fashion school. He was going to Baltimore.
He was leaving Washington Heights.
The sun exploded through the small window and draped itself haphazardly across Delilah's spotless bedspread. Delilah wasn't usually a fan of haphazard, but she made an exception. It was Sunday after all.
Sunday. Her five fat fingers began to tremble slightly as she thought of a torn seal and the familiar red lettering inviting her back to a better life.
She had to get ready.
The day was still young as Delilah hopped gingerly out of bed and almost skipped to the bathroom. She straightened all her various toiletries before starting her morning routine. Her teeth sparkled to match her eyes as she scrubbed them gently with her professional-grade toothbrush five times. Her cheeks shone as she slowly lathered her face, and her long brown hair felt silky to the touch after 50 strokes of the boar bristle brush. And then she did something different. The drawer resting peacefully for so long under the sink creak slightly as Delilah pulled it open. The dusty drawer was sparsely populated with eyeliners, mascara, lipsticks, foundations. She pulled them all out, lined them neatly on the counter, and, for the first time since arriving at Washington Heights, Delilah Plunk tried.
Back in her room, Delilah opened the door of the closet. She was startled by a single moth as it fluttered right past her black, stiffened eyelashes. She fingered through the clothes hung on wire hangers, searching for the splash of color amidst the blacks, browns, navys, and grays. Finally, in the extremities of the small space, Delilah found what she was looking for. She pulled the deep red dress off the hanger and shook it slightly before pulling it over her head. Her five fat fingers negotiated the small buttons up the sides before smoothing out the full skirt that brushed against her knees. This dress that had been her mother's was the only article of clothing Delilah brought to Washington Heights that let on the fact that her fingers might not be the best indicator of her general figure.
After eying the vacant space on her vanity, Delilah made her way back the bathroom. In the mirror, she did not see the woman who sat at her window and watched pigeons and people go by in fives. She did not see the woman who toppled coffee displays in seedy grocery stores and ran. She did not see the woman she had become. She saw instead the woman she used to be. The woman who was privileged. The woman who was loved and loved silently. The woman who was worthy of opening the envelope that lay expectantly on her kitchen counter.
Delilah was ready.
Her long-unused heels clocked across the hardwood as she walked to the kitchen. She stopped in front of it, taking her time. But as she finally reached and held it in her five fat fingers, she knew something was not right.
Not here.
Delilah plucked her coat from the hook by the door and put the envelope in its pocket. She turned the doorknob five times, opened the door, and made for the elevator. She made her way across the dingy lobby carefully and pushed open the front door into the blazing sunlight of late morning, headed for the park.
But almost immediately she stopped. She peered curiously at the throng of people crowded around the park's tallest tree, the gray newspapers fluttering aimlessly, and the silent ambulance that threw its red light across the pavement. Fingering the corners of the letter in her pocket, Delilah crossed the street.
"...just a goddamn kid. Goddamnit. Just a goddamn fucking kid..."
A woman Delilah did not recognize as a resident Washington Heights sat on the park bench beside the ambulance, her back to the scene unfolding before Delilah, muttered softly to herself, dabbing at her eyes.
Oh no.
Delilah meekly pushed her way through the crowd of people, craning her neck to see what she knew she didn't want to see. She finally pushed her way through enough to see Dr. Evans kneeling at the head of a small, skeletal frame, looking at him without the urgency of a doctor trying to save another's life but with the solemnity of a woman who kneels helpless before death. Delilah's five fat fingers covered her mouth as she stared at the impossible contortions of the small boys feet which had stood just days ago on a stack of soggy newspapers. The pool of blood that circled the little boy's placid face like a halo made Delilah's stomach lurch, and she forced her way more violently out of the throng than she had come in, coughing and sputtering, needing fresh air.
She put her fingers to her cheek.
Dry.
Disgusted with herself, Delilah started walking.
She crossed the street without waiting for the light to change in her favor. She neared the door of Washington Heights and felt a decision pressing upon her chest greater than the one that presented itself in front of her eyes – go inside or keep walking.
Delilah walked.
She walked past the abandoned lot save the taxidermist's stand, feeling the unusually kind breeze brush against her bare knees. She walked past the decrepit warehouse, the austere bakery, the flower shop. And as she walked something changed. Her throat tickled as she felt the sunlight pouring over her and the little boy lying dead in the park. She listened to the clocking of her heels and watched them as, out of habit, they avoided the cracks in the pavement.
She hesitated slightly before slamming her left foot across an epic crack.
Then again and again and again, every step was greeted with another break in the dreary asphalt speckled with sun. Delilah brought her speed to a slow gallop as she continued down Baker Street, her upper lip curled genuinely above her sparkling teeth. She ran across the street again, seeking out any small cracks in the black tar she could find, settling for yellow painted lines to lay her feet haphazardly across. She crossed over onto Barton Street, her eager feet suddenly coming to an abrupt halt beside a set of familiar cement steps. She turned to face the large wooden doors and reached her hand into her pocket.
Here.
The sounds of the chorus booming from any and all crevices in the run down chapel gave Delilah the strength to lift the leaden envelope and hold it gently in her hands. She looked once more at the red ink, the unmistakable penmanship. Delilah was nearly unable to remain standing as her index finger carefully began breaking the seal with unrivaled precision.
Mr. and Mrs. Luke Josephs
Request the honor of your presence
At the marriage of their daughter
Sarah Ruth Josephs
To
Mr. Samson Paul
Sunday the fifth of Decem
At that moment the heavy doors to the chapel flew open, and Delilah's carefully primped hair blew backwards in the force of the countless voices bellowing from within. Unable to think, unable to feel, Delilah's feet slowly climbed the cement steps. Up the cement steps.
Up.
The beautiful black figures in the red robes stood swaying like the flowers in His garden. The moon teeth glowed just like before, and Delilah could not stop herself from walking down the aisle.
But He was not waiting at the altar. Only the massive preacher standing before his congregation awaited her, dripping sweat despite the season, completely overcome by the song echoing off the tall ceilings. Delilah's bare knees grew weaker with every step until she crumpled half way down the aisle. The old women with paper fans and young boys in suits that were too large did not even glance her way to say, "Crazy white girl." They only sang.
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home
Delilah's lips trembled as she felt the plush carpet beneath her thighs. Her thoughts floated aimlessly, a silent accompaniment to the zealous voices of the red chorus. She thought of the dead boy in the park, the forgotten ice cream truck, the filthy grocery store, the suspicious butchery, the seedy bar, the elevator that smelled like piss, the singing from the stairwell, the dirt on her palms, the unexpected wedding invitation she clutched at her side.
She began to cough. But soon the coughs turned into smiles and the smiles turned into laughs and Delilah lay down in the aisle, laughing like a little girl. She held the elegant letter to her chest.
What am I doing here.
A few members of the congregation finally began to take notice of the well dressed white woman splayed across their chapel floor, but not one of them could appreciate the rarity of the words that creaked their way quietly through Delilah Plunk's smiling lips.
"S-swing low, sweet chariot
Coming f-for to c-carry me home
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home"
A fountain of butterflies burst forth from Delilah's open mouth as the tears streamed steadily down her face. She laughed loudly and quieted only when the song ended on a last, resounding, glorious note. Her cue passed, Delilah rose quietly, invitation in hand, and walked out of the door. Hundreds of eyes followed the beautiful woman in the beautiful dress, smiling through countless tears, humming softly to herself.
Delilah shut the heavy doors behind her.
Delilah replaced the invitation in the envelope. She licked the broken but unharmed flap and resealed it. The last salty tears fell onto the creamy paper as she looked at the letter one last time. Blinking slightly in the bright sunlight, Delilah held the envelope above her head. The breeze was too weak to even rustle her wrinkled dress, but as soon as she let it go the envelope danced in midair as though carried on the wings of invisible butterflies. Delilah watched it dance out of sight as she stood tall on the steps of the chapel. She turned to face the tall silhouette of Washington Heights flanked by sunlight, a defeated sentinel of a soundless, sunless sarcophagus. Humming softly to herself, Delilah Plunk descended the church steps and made her way to the only apartment building in Baltimore with the fifth room on the fifth floor available.
The next morning she was gone.
The fresh blades of grass, held damp, morning dew,
That tickled her toes as Snazy tip-toed through,
Away from the sidewalks, on comfortable ground,
The earth that hid under construction that drowned,
Washington Heights, for the buildings were all,
That took up the land, with their restricting walls.
So she wandered through short cuts that led to her place,
On the bridge overlooking a life to embrace,
No matter the overflow of griping groans,
The shadows, the darkness, the lurking unknowns,
Hope still remained, stuck tight in the cracks,
Growing from every crumble, and creating tracks,
The lines that branched off to point many ways,
Letting hope take a path, braking loose through the days,
These were the broken signs, all that was left,
A give in the city blocks, a small narrow cleft.
Snazy traced them with innocent fingers between,
The fractured cement, the hope-driven seams,
Her mind wandered far as she looked toward the sky,
So clear, filled with sunshine, the weather awry.
Her worries escaped her mind with the breeze,
She thought of the man who weakened her knees.
His eyes, how they smiled with joy from each strum,
On his golden guitar, she knew he'd become,
So famously well-known for charm and appeal,
The sound in her memory soon became real.
His music sang slowly, and streamed through the town,
A sad song so sullen, filled hearts all around.
It drifted past lamp posts, past cars, and past doors,
Passing two angry people, amidst canine-fueled wars.
It seeped through the windows, and broke through the glass,
Snazy climbed down and stumbled to follow it fast.
The strumming grew louder, her heartbeat dropped low,
A feeling so different, so cold, made her slow.
A life had been taken, their time was foregone,
Their soul in the heavens, alongside this song.
But as one pathway closes, a new light shines bright,
Illuminating chances and opportunities that might,
Begin days full of changes, a world complete,
With story lines made up of one special beat.
The tune of his strings vibrate through the air,
She followed it blindly, away from despair.
The sorrow beamed dimly from beneath a tree,
Strumming chords, mourning softly, with sound misery.
A child lay silent, his soul rest to sleep,
But one song lived on with pure love she would keep.
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