Mrs. Dalloway : An ode to Virginia Woolf

She lives in empty rooms
she feels, she cries
she walks over shrouded tombs
she sighs as she walks away

Johnny left in spring
Little Mary didn’t see the winter
The house is in shambles
her hopes in splinters

Each stone seems special
adding weight to a soul
we’ll meet in purgatory, she thinks
the lake is just beckoning her more

The cold water pierces through
her heartless beats don’t last
It stabs like a thousand knives
It is on this cold October Sky
that Mrs. Dalloway breathes her last…

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