Magical imprints on her
Talking to the wind with swirling curves
Knocks on the door of purity
Blinded by love and faith
Tranquility is not the major feature
Hurdles are many
Lost is a lot
Saved is none
Still blinded by faith and love
Keeps walking in the meadows of madness
When it is time to think straight
Imagination begins to talk
She asks him to sit beside
And wait for her to finish what never started
