Unknown date.
She talks to death,
And whispers in her sleep.
It has been many seasons,
Since she has awoken.
She talks to death,
As the roses in her room,
Grow stale and old.
And no longer smell sweet.
She talks to death,
And the doctors wonder,
If she'll ever wake again,
To see daylight or moon.
She talks to death.
And she is almost gone.
She may never know,
What she has left behind.
