She ran through the long halls now occupied by her quiet history

A strange character with an exquisite sensibility watched her every move

She was not loved it was a lost illusion many years spent

Her gentle soul was constantly changing between light and shade with the latter taking hold for long periods of time

There had been many songs but very little poetry written on the grey bricks of her dreadful prison

Even though he had not served his country during the time of conflict he felt he had served it well with his pen