She dwells among the untrodden ways,
The labyrinth of her soul.
Like these hedges, a bundle of thorns,
A spinous crown hiding the path,
stopping her steps.
A violet by a mossy stone
Will she survive another rainstorm?
Will her head stand still till a new day's dawn?
She lifts her eyes to the cloudy sky
and waits for another lightning.
She lives unknown, and few will know
When she will cease to be.
Will she be blown away by a summer
restless wind,
Or die entangled in the hedges
trapping her soul?
She won't be with me, so why should
Any difference matter?
