The lady of the night walks by
in a rain-drenched silver gown.
Her bare feet stirs the puddles;
Her black hair combs the mist.
She walks upon the cobbled streets,
through long and winding alleys.
She lifts her gaze to find the stars
but the sky was overcast.
She peers into the window panes,
and warms her numb fingertips.
She rests her hands upon the sill
and let her tired eyelids drop.
The people are drinking merry.
They ate with silver spoons.
The cat sleeps by the fireplace,
while children stroked its fur.
Outside a trembling lady stares
and leans upon the frozen glass,
contented with the little warmth
against the frigid wind blast,
But one day, she had gone too far
she feebly knocked upon the door.
It opened wide before her eyes
and bid her come inside.
And lo, exactly like it was before,
she found an empty ashen space
No ceiling there could she behold
amidst the burnt and crumbling walls.
Once more, her black eyes awaken
to the cold and harsh reality.
The rain pours down; she walks alone
upon the war-torn cobbled streets.
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