On the streets of London,
Night at its darkest hour where despair is in abundance,
Eyes full of hope starring at the open sky,
Abomination towards mankind in heart calling happiness a big lie,
Despised by the ignorant society,
Midnight madness strikes her,
Crying her heart out like an infant,
She wandered on the streets of despair with a youthful harlots curse.
Reciting verses of Wordsworth,
Out of the dark,
A knight appeared,
Magnificent as a stallion he stands before her.
At the loneliest hour she experienced mankind’s sheer hatred and kindness in the same night,
He took her hand to the garden of hope,
Love struck grace with a wild card of existence,
She lay in the arms of the knight,
Only to discover it as a lonely dream,
A mere illusion leaving tears in her eyes.
The wind whispers a merry song again,
Her eyes lit up like the shimmering stars,
Gray November and white December shall die,
As the days go by,
On this ground her tears lie,
A flower besides her blossoms soothing her melancholic cries.