Even the spirit's writes.

On a foggy morning she went by, with a cold hand, Cicadas vibrating the land, Yet, silence reigned over her. As she reads, words on the Marble with cold hands, Agony that sparked her, Drop of tears, filled with memories, That rolled down her cheek, and falls on her cold hand. With a smile,wipes her tears,folds her sleeves,warms her hand and cleans the Place. Replaces the withered Flowers, With a bouquet of white flowers. And chants a prayer," I'll join you soon". Picks up her walking cane,which helps her aging knee. As I stood,she came towards me, And walk past through me, She had a cold touch, goosebumps on her skin. I tittered,and hold her hand again.