Her Hymn

Like clockwork, she sings,
a melody enveloped by her tears,
a song scribed onto the shedding bark for all to see,
recited with every turning leaf, like a prophecy

The whistling winds ridicule her lament,
tickling her nape of mountainous rock,
fueling the flames of envy and pride from afar,
which waltz around her heart of tar

Swaying poppies, tainted with her blood,
a stark contrast to the land of arsenic-green,
heaving with its empty cries,
intertwined with the chorus of eternal demise

Her coat of delicate cobalt ripples,
wispy woven threads are now stained with plastic and debris,
the murky waters wail,
along with the lyrics of her melancholy tale

A lullaby of sinister sins,
rendered for her mortal kin,
she waits for them to hear,
to atone for her fear