A February eve, and snowflakes fall
So soft, so gentle, above it all.
From my window, my eyes are drawn
To a forest path, both still and wan.
Who once walked those narrow trails?
With silent grief and frozen veils...
Can she, my heart, take that same way?
Is she that brave won’t run, won’t sway?
But hearts, they rise when called to roam
She stood and left her silent home.
“I’m going now,” she whispered low,
“They’re waiting there, I have to go.”
And then she walked with quiet grace,
And vanished on that unknown trace.