When a Wanderess has been caged, or perched with her wings clipped, She lives like a Stoic, She lives most heroic, smiling with ruby, moistened lips once her cup of Death is welcome sipped.
I slip away into the night, I won't have much to take. Only the story of this life, with you, I leave behind
Good Grieving: Narrative Perspectives of Loss and Bereavement
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I slip away into the night, I won't have much to take. Only the story of this life, with you, I leave behind
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