She sat in that secluded tower and withered away.
The night wind rustled her hair
And she looked as if she'd fall to pieces.
As the days aged and the moons waxed and waned
Her eyes dulled in the starlight,
Dimming more with each passing night.
She was a droplet clear and hanging,
Waiting for that final, fatal plunge
To darkness untouched by light or rain.
Her fingers weathered in the sun
And a fear forced frown adorned her face.
The ivy 'round her ankles kept her stranded there forever.
But on an evening red 'fore twilight
Did a traveler spot her window--
An ancient, cracked painting in the wood.
He did step and pause to wonder
At that woman soaked in colors
When she took a labored breath as night did fall.
The colors then did pour,
Spreading out around the wood,
Glorious greens, reds and yellows did he see.
Her finger twitched, a final flutter
Of her life once wrought with color
That she seemed to have lost sight of long ago.
He looked at her--Her eyes then closing.
And he couldn't help but ponder,
Who it was that let this woman die
In the first of winter's snow.
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