There was a day when sun shone down
Upon a fortress grand
And through a curtained window fell
Upon her resting hand
She lay across the bed and frowned
A book upon her knee
And there recorded all her thoughts
Her great melancholy
The room was dimly lit as though
The light would fire her pain
And not a single soul in sight
For she none could contain
Yet never once a sob she let
Though misery ruled her years
For alone could cry the most
Invisble of tears
And so alone she sat and wrote
And sat and wrote some more
And movement stirred and voices heard
Though none upon her floor
But for the scratching of her quill
The silence was set free
And there she sat, outside of time
So full of melancholy
