As the sons of the dark cloud came pouring,
Came pouring on every nook and cranny,
That the sons of men in absentia feared,
And there she was, being watered; a plant in a rejected garden.

A voice galloped from behind,
From behind an echo of summoning,
causing her a turn to behold the source,
As the tears poured out in hymns that hold no record.

It was a friend, she said My friend.

A friend who knew too well her lover,
A...