A funeral in which a glass chaplet was held, a calming halo about the small, petite blonde head and black-rimmed glasses for the sight-less sea among them, a mournful emerald-earthen-bracelet about the left wrist and a consecrated military cross on the neck, the fair and broken face hidden beneath a veil of thick, black, gauze, a vow taken to conceal the delicate features forever from the sight of others, pallid artwork in which they doth love unconsciously, a woundless Christ watches from the tranquil meadow and green forest-lake of Heaven and weeps for a melancholy daughter, lifeless and apathetic eyes, on days like this, in grace and sweetness, Christ weeps; weeps from within a heart gulphed in the sorrow of your own.