A sound to behold in the deepest ear of one’s heart. Her cry sits softly upon the cool breeze, whisked about by the fair winds of the deep and dark midnight sky. For ’tis darker than the sorrows of yesterday, yet brighter than the hope of tomorrow. The Sun shall come to eviscerate the beauty of these early morning hours, so shall I stay to witness her pining. The moonlight flushes white over the open waters, and I can only hear the melodic notes trickle from her soft lips. The gown that wraps about her fair skin flows white as the fresh snow of the Spanish mountains, but burns as a fiery rose upon the fresh Summer grass. About every syllable and every sound, there is desperate sorrow climatically calling to he whom completes her. The deepening of her cry soars above the clouds and into the immense space of the heavens. Its sound drifts amongst the beauty of the stars. But soon mindful of the truth, her song plummets to the depths of the sea. Silenced under the mighty waves of the open ocean and succumbed to the darkness of the countless catacombs, she sings no more. For once was the cry of an angel on Earth, a somber melody sung out on a Summers’s night.