There she was walking on a tightrope,
Confused, amazed—almost as if losing hope,
She chose to do the right thing at the wrong time,
Not knowing it would hurt her in a dime.
She held on as if she was letting go,
—of something so precious, like a gold,
It was her feelings that made a clue,
For the sky to go pink and blue.
She wish for something perfect,
Only to end up as a neglect,
She fought but it was too late,
To even try being his mate.
And then she wished she should have said,
—something that she should have made,
Only did she solved the puzzle,
When it was too late and all that was left was a muffle.
