Little dancer,
Who twirls and spins across the sky,
Used to retrieve those who were ready to die.
Her fragile translucent fingers against their cold skin filled her with dread,
For it was she who retrieved the heartbroken dead.
One whisper on the wind,
From the lips of one who had not sinned.
She listened intently and silently,
As her heavy heart drummed within violently.
For the gossamer murmur against her cheek,
Was from one who was brittle and meek.
As the lady watched from the shadows she could see a small child,
Who was beaten, broken and their love from their parents exiled.
They peered at her with grief in their eyes,
And she could see the end near in their sad demise.
Though she was icy like the dead she nurtured,
The dancer did all she could to comfort the murdered.
As her silvery tears stained the lifeless face,
She searched the stars above for any kind of grace.
Above they answered in kind,
For the payment they had in mind.
Her freedom they required,
Their deceptive luminescence had her beguiled.
With a shaking hand the lady cut out her heart,
Breaking her body apart.
A gift she bestowed to that who had fallen,
Those above looked upon this scene crestfallen.
For now in the chest of the recently departed,
Lived the beating heart of the one who was now left and forgotten
