Her ancient face wrinkled in wisdom,
Her faced raised to the heavens,
As the skies tear open their kisses to her pale eyes,
As the sun slowly sinks to the sky and dies.

Her hand runs to the rocks of the forest gold.
Her historical stories echoes on the rocky aloves,
As the chirps of the cuckoo makes aware,
Of death's unnerving glare.

Rhyme scheme: abcc