On a lazy Sunday, I sat down with a book
It was a nice story about a loving dame
That shared her sudden dreams to one of her old flame
In story-telling flair, the writer had a hook

The text was fantasy but I could understand
That life brings mystery, even sometimes nightmares
But you continue on, dreaming holy affairs
As the story unfolds, into a twisted strand

The old flame wanted her, and to reunite past
So he kept listening and sharing his advice
To be her guiding ear was a better suffice

The story ends with a twist, together during blast
Holding hands and stretching, to honour her presence
In the building rubbles, with a loving sentence.