She painted her walls, blue and red

As the fall launched into her flat

His spirit, brought by the evening sun, 

a beam of light, 

scattering through the small windows 

of the backyard house on hazy days

It made her face her solitude.

 

And finally winter came 

and stepped into the rooms:

 

The past enteres the present 

the present decents into the past. 

The flame runs through her throat, 

again

she tries to laugh it out,

she wants to scream,

she moans and shouts in her mind

"It's not real, it's only a dream" . 

However, all she can do,

is painting a third wall green.