Elizabeth has a way of looking in,

And seeing all the pretty places,

We don’t have.

She has a way of saying things,

Words though merely dreams,

Hold true after the clock strikes two.

How she wishes the world wouldn’t pass her by,

In its attempt to circle the sun,

For her sun too has come and gone.

Within the spaces which time forgot,

She dreams and dreads two dozen paces,

For the shadow remembers not.

Elizabeth, she wanders near not far,

But the known paths sometimes trod,

More dangerous become.

The words of dreams are hers to mind,

From here to forever they trickle,

Steady hands fail her not, ink to skin put.

The summer breeze never felt so sweet,

As when across her eyes the colours danced,

And in that moment she understood.

Elizabeth knew the world was not for her,

Its ways were not hers and never would be,

The havens beckoned with whispered calls.

Towards the deep she ventured on,

The end of the world to see,

For if only longing could be put into words.

Elizabeth, oh Elizabeth, she has a way of looking in,

And seeing all the pretty places,

We don’t have.