"O, wakeful I lie through the long night; my restless soul flutters until the dawn. The winds sough and sigh o…
"O, wakeful I lie through the long night; my restless soul flutters until the dawn. The winds sough and sigh on every side; white frost clings to the courtyard..."
At the third watch, deep within the Forlorn Palace, a faint, mournful sobbing arises from a dry well in a ruined garden. Beside the well, a withered locust tree stirs without a breeze, and a three-foot length of white silk suddenly unfurls.
In a trance, one sees an inverted pale shadow, hair veiling its face, seemingly chanting a rhapsody of parting sorrows. Its voice is full of sorrow, and each word, as it is spoken, blooms one by one across the white silk in strokes red as blood...
Should one dare a glimpse, the gaze is drawn, the soul ensnared, and the spirit seized.
Thus it is said: this is a Poet's Soul, seeking verses to weave into a rhapsody.