The tapping of her pen over the hard wooden desk
Mirrored the uneasy rhythmic beating of her heart
Which once thought of their faces dearer than picturesque
Roads which she would have otherwise ventured to depart

Forlorn, they passed her by, heads too stiff to give some care
Ignoring and forsaking the memories once shared
How wrong she was to believe, how naive, she now mourned
She would have offered them no less than her self, unturned

The tapping of her pen over the hard wooden desk
Mirrored the dripping of unshed tears around her heart
Which was once of flesh, now hardened, closed-up, and grotesque
Deadened, she bid the cold farewell that was her part.