with wrinkled hands, she sings

with wrinkled hands she sings
her heart searching for the angels.
the dances she could have led.
the words she could have written
the depression she found, instead..
the clock that ticked
the cruel hand of time
that made each second a sad rhyme
each year a lost blessing.
she sits with her music
lost in confessing.
the young girl inside
yearning not
to hide.
too late she fears
nobody hears.