Lena
hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
that perches in the soul
The question struck her as bizarre; and she could feel herself growing taut and rigid. “I would.” She’d defended them before, time and time again – those downtrodden, sick, feeble, incapable of helping themselves, placed in the Celestine to be under her watchful eye, in her care. Her hand clenched harder over the rim of her basket, and while her eyes had taken on a forged, steely mannerism, the gentleness in her tone didn’t fade.
Her strides carried her along the entrance, going down along winding paths. The last sentence made her gaze narrow. “You’re probably right.” But no one had ever aimed to strike at her. Not her sister, long since gone now. Not her family. Not her friends. Lena had been the seraphic sort, effervescent and bright, kind and obliging. Selfless.
Her strides carried her along the entrance, going down along winding paths. The last sentence made her gaze narrow. “You’re probably right.” But no one had ever aimed to strike at her. Not her sister, long since gone now. Not her family. Not her friends. Lena had been the seraphic sort, effervescent and bright, kind and obliging. Selfless.
and sings the tune without the words
and never stops at all
and never stops at all
