The Lost Daughter !
The Lost Daughter !
The Word created her,
And The Word granted her death ;
Once she seemed to be the prodigal one,
Who thought to snatch her death from her master.
She was a minion in her era,
Left dumb by the possibilities of impossibilities ;
To sweat to wet in the wild desert,
By wandering with lust for life.
Her mind was camouflaged with the sand dunes,
To survive among the fittest ;
And her eyes quested over the mirages,
To find a miracle as an oasis.
Her soul saw the desert as being endless, yet,
The lost daughter was embellished with patience,
She decided to take a nap,
But The Word granted her death.