Sometimes, she sat in the sunshine
in hope it'll make her fine.
Waiting there, she crosses the line,
and away the sorrow, mixes the wine
in hope it takes the night or brings the sunshine.
Sometimes, she stood in the divine,
In the shadow of Mary, God’s own concubine,
Dissolved, she prays for mercy or the sublime,
But the cross of sorrow, she can’t, of God’s shrine
And soon, from the psalms, resign.
She goes to the shoreline or riverine
and there, continues her decline,
but she sees, of all and the shores, a confine.
She takes the sand, smooth and fine
Then walked into this sea of brine.
And in the bosom of the sea, lies a sublime,
One whose face holds, rays of sunshine