THE REST IS FATE

A mournful cello 
Slowly moans
Its falling notes
Become a coat
Its whisper now
Fading to nought
In silken robes
Its sorrow caught.

Night light flickers
Pops and dies
Left in darkness
Deep defined
The love torn girl
Upon unsteady heels
Tells the night
Her deepest dreams.

She loves love
Her impossible needs
Her visions of roses
A cottage scene
Love is hard
And granite laced
It turns its head
The rest is fate.