Little Girl

The scent of perfume

In the little room

Where the little girl stares.

The splendid air

Of her ghostly presence lingers

A tinge red, stained

Reminiscent of oblivion.

Flowers arrayed around empty graves

Only pure is

The sky outside,

Serene, through misty glass

While

Two blackbirds watch

with eyes intent...

On mercy notwithstanding

Cold as permanent as iron

Tracks in snow.

Though still she stares

At a world she used to know.