Press enter or click to view image in full size![]()
She is a lady who walks, so solemn on the grass
She looks so heavenly, when she makes her little dance
And if I’m mistaken, then she’s probably fake
A figment of my bleak imagination, such a shame
But if she’s real, she is a forbidden mess
Get yvette’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
I’m the wondering bird, she’s my nest
And I probably dreamt of her a thousand times
A melancholy lady, in the Shadow she thrives
A lily on her hair, and another in her smile
Disappearing as fast as the sun on an evening sky
And my wishful thinking wants her to only be mine
We are melancholy ladies, in the Shadow we thrive.
