By a window where autumn is saddled
and the slip of its leaves had arrived,
a bottomless chair there is dappled
in a light that's about to subside...
For there's a girl with a mare on her pillow;
as still as the cheek of the child,
but it moves with her still in the meadow
as she rests with a nurse by her side...
And the unicorn trapped on a leaflet
takes her mind off the sterilized room,
as she buries herself, like a secret,
in the walls of a bleak afternoon.
And she waits for the fussing to finish,
and she waits for the pain to subside;
then, together, they sleep with their wishes
and, together, they dream of outside...
She's the tears of her father's frustration...
She's the tears in her mother's restraint,
where the truth cannot bear to be spoken
as they cling to her hands there and wait.
For their hearts lay in wait to be broken,
wrapped in sorrow so hard to deny...
Where the pony's rosettes are just tokens
'neath the books full of last lullabies.
And at the foothills of ageing, her crayons
fall asleep in a draw of their minds.
Her mem'ries tattooed in the garden
where the tear of the morning unwinds...
In the quiet remains of their sorrow
on a motionless bed as they sleep,
aloft where tomorrow seems hollow,
the sways of a rocking horse, creak...