There’s a hope hanging down
By a fragile thread, off a moonbeam
Sending a faint but steady stream
Of soft, radiant light,
Into the darkest corner in this quiet town;
But the girl sat there, on a lonesome bench
Takes no notice of the light or the stench
From the open, overflowing drain
That carries more than just yesterdays rain.
She is lost somewhere, in a web of her thoughts,
Or perchance it is the void of those
That she finds herself sucked into;
Wherever it is that her mind’s flitted off,
She hasn’t gone there herself.
Instead she has chosen this godforsaken spot
To sit awhile, and ignore hope,
It has come too late, after the boat has sailed,
And for all she cares, it can go to rot.