11 August 2024
There is a town
On the edge of time,
In the heart of nowhere
And in this town there is a garden,
Where trees stretch tall
Into the sky,
Old and wise,
Eternal trees.
And in this garden
There is a statue
White marble, pure and smooth,
A statue of a maiden,
Her lovely face lowered,
Tears frozen cold on her cheeks,
Fallen to her knees,
Bent down
In eternal subjugation.
People would pass by,
Glance at her,
Not seeing,
Not thinking,
Forgetting her,
The eternal porcelain shadow.
One day, a weary traveller
Drifts down a dusty path
And sees her.
He stops.
Saddened, he reaches out to her,
Placing a warm hand
On her stone-cold locks,
And a wind rustles
In the eternal trees.
He turns
And leaves.
His steps rustle the pebbles.
His steps,
But then other steps,
Sprightly and quick,
Catching up with him,
Lighthearted steps,
Free from eternity.
She stops before him
And he stops too.
And she smiles a warm smile,
Warm and bright
And whispers softly
"Thank you!"
