She ambles in this ghost town ,
In a collage of colors ,
The lagoon serpents around .
The shadows patches ;
Hinting the brightness of sight
Making a funny composition ,
That make her crave to fly .
Sitting there lower than the footsteps ,
She listens to the conversation incomprehensible,
The clock keeps ticking ,
The church strikes twelve ,
She doesn’t leave ,
Neither does she stay .
The beads keep clinking ,
Along with the water that flows ,
The thoughts rolling ,
Compelling to make them her own .
Another few minutes ,
Another few decades ,
Of this passing contentment ,
Perching by the window of another ,
She declares this light her home.