O poor, poor Miss Havisham!

A whisper of a once beautiful lady
Hushed with imaginary time.

Hands withered
Figure decrepit
Heart  b r o k e n.

Wearing away with the table
That once brought future
But now brings fate.

O how she waits
Waits
Waits
With the only proof of existence of time
Hidden in her aging white hair.

O poor, poor Miss Havisham!
Naturally cremated to ash
Eagerly awaiting her fate,
That Miss Havisham in her once white dress.