She is a hopeless star in the limpid trance of a kindled fire.
She is a flaming dewdrop burning in the shadow of an untameable desire.
She is liquid luck spilt on the ground by treason,
And she is a budded flower waiting for the inevitable change of season.
She is the contumacious first flight of a bird,
And she is the story of a person, unsung and unheard.