Returning crows in the chilly gloaming brought a mood of melancholy on her,
yet why the fresh willows in pond were so verdant and tender.
But for the endless wrench in this parting moment,
she would not have believed sadness may make hair grey ever.
Heart had broken, non-stop tears yet to drain.
Much lamented, she climbed up the little red tower again.
Known better that mountains would obstruct her from overlooking,
still against the balustrade she could not help herself leaning .