I am the reticent dame,
Who makes your soul quiver;
The fool who fights to find her name.
Forlorn gaze and unknown barricade,
Oh! Don’t bother,
I am the reticent dame.
The gloom surrounded her as she came,
She understood no one, nor gold or silver –
The fool who fights to find her name.
The spice of old flame,
And lo! She’s gone forever;
I am the reticent dame –
The despondent mind takes the blame,
For, the one with the lucid heart in the Stynx river,
The fool who fights to find her name.
And yet, her staff of hearth has a gust called change,
The shades of grey crumbles into irish clover.
I am the reticent dame;
The fool who fights to find her name.
Brunilda Writes 