Wrapped in a shawl that breathed of Magic
And the warmest of memories,
She sits in her favourite corner,
An enchanting book propped open on her lap.
The words on the page speak to Her,
Whispering around her mind.
Reflecting at the corners,
Absorbing at the core.
In the benign silence of the Night,
Amidst the quiet humdrum of Life,
The air around her tingles,
And the winds seem to sing.
Her Heart had always been
The Beloved of Harmony.
To find Music in Madness,
To live several lives in a single beat.
Ah, but the Soul?
Albeit a Wanderer,
Was nothing less and nothing but
The Valentine of Peace.