The winter of shame pervades her garment
And life is shorter than in preceding stages.
She smiles because she’s not unique,
She voices her stillness to unknown ears.
The greatness of glory is steeped in pink vapor,
The wildness of youth is not as momentous,
The sound of old engines is her private wealth.

Welsh fields loom in the background
And fanciful horns complete the picture.
Understood by her sisters, mocked by her children,
She flies to a place where she cannot be followed.

Under the sober candor of mourning,
There is a reverence for what makes us breathe,
There is the silhouette of change and transfer
That charms the curious and abets the dream.