The Word created her,

And The Word granted her death ;

Once she seemed to be the prodigal one,

Who thought to snatch her death from her master.

She was a minion in her era,

Left dumb by the possibilities of impossibilities ;

To sweat to wet in the wild desert,

By wandering with lust for life.

Her mind was camouflaged with the sand dunes,

To survive among the fittest ;

And her eyes quested over the mirages,

To find a miracle as an oasis.

Her soul saw the desert as being endless, yet,

The lost daughter was embellished with patience,

She decided to take a nap,

But The Word granted her death.