I went to find the flower of the town
inside her overflowing mossy grave,
who, after a Zamboni mowed her down,
had joined with those the doctors couldn't save.

In life, her gentle tread caressed the earth
and like a nymph, with freely-whipping hair,
she danced, her lips aglow in flick’ring mirth,
and spent her youthful days without a care.

So when I found her final resting place,
I dutifully turned the solemn stone
prepared to pay respects unto her face
--but caught a countenance unlike her own.

The shriek caught in my throat, a lifeless sigh.
For shuddering, I saw that she was I.