She whispers to me through an open window,
“Come and see.”
But I am frail, weak, and small.
My soul can’t make the climb.

Yet she whispers to me,
A hint, a linger upon the breeze.
“Come and feel,” she urges me,
But I cannot leave this life we’ve built.

And so she whispers evermore,
Alighting her trace upon the sill.
“Come and see,” she calls to me.
“Maybe someday,” I reply.