A lonely Harpist
Resting on a bank,
Tired, Worried, Numb
Her harp in her lap,
Eyes on the Moon,
her Song on the wind.
"Fly away, Fly away, Fly away
To me. Hold me, kiss me,
Take this ache from my chest
Come back to my Arms,
Do not let me hurt any more."
Eyes now cloudy
Lips shaking with cold,
She turned from the bank
The Moon watching her go

