Hannah dreamt of being unlike the rest,
And of having cause to raise her cry,
Enclosed within the seaside nest,
To paint her brow and wonder why.

Hannah longed to see the brine
Leave its marks upon the glass,
And draw her right hand in the line
Of her breath, as moments pass.

Hannah knew the cost so dear
Of having dreams of parchments,
And drawers filled with garments
Too white for the festive cheer.

She knew well the pride of those
Who recite all of Dante’s verses,
Yet blushed at singers’ songs
‘Bout the longings of silly loves.

Lost in storms beneath the skies,
Still she waited, calm and sure,
For a knight with swords of words,
As time cruelly drifted by.

Hannah feared no ill to bear,
If ill was the groundwork laid
For summat better, a stage
Of mental peace, beyond compare.

Hannah dreamt of morrows new,
And of treasures to hold tight,
A life to learn, a life to write
With hands that crafted dreams and truths.

Marco Delrio

Hannah

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