Frigid waves rock like a cradle.

      They enfold like a sheet.

      The torrents caress stilling limbs.

      Her only comfort from life

      the roaring swell

      that she embraces, sinking deep.

      Her fey mind sings its blighted tune.

     She opens her arms to rest,

     a place apart from violent ends

    and strife.

    Her dampened brow lies pale.

    Lifeless lids do not wake.

    She said good-night to the ladies

    and bid her last

    farewell.

   Like a daisy with petals withered 

  too soon,

  Ophelia has lost her

  bloom.