“So elegant and perfect,” they would call her,
What she felt, that to them, never did occur.
They labelled her prodigious, one of the greats,
Didn’t know that this title, she did hate.
They’d ask questions and then fawn,
Same went on, from dusk till dawn.
At first she got irked by their words.
Though not meant to, they did hurt.
Why couldn’t they see it all?
Who would come to lift the pall?
The pall of darkness descended upon,
Covered her like a shroud, made her frown.
They sure did whisper among themselves,
But into deeper matters, failed to delve:
“Ah, they all ruin their future,
This is tuned into their nature.”
And they went on with their own world,
Didn’t even wait for her true self to unfurl.
She still remains a mystery, long forgotten,
Sad to be misunderstood by her own brethren.