In Black and White.

Come to the Father, though your gift is small
Broken hearts, broken lives, He will take them all.

The black and white keys danced in accordance. Her gaze transfixed, these familiar objects soon made way for that which clouded her sight.

On a particular day each week, yellowed memories are renewed with vigour.

It is still ; then it envelopes and she purses her lips to quell what brews within.

These pains, they do fall

and gently caress her crumpled mien.