a rainbow of flowers to feast her eyes,
but when angry clouds came sweeping
into her fragile artistic soul
Virginia could barely write a sentence,
for the terrible torturous voices inside her head
were relentless, murdering creativity.
Yet her novels have stood the test of time:
classics such as Mrs Dalloway and To The Lighthouse,
and I picture her smoking a cigar
with wonderful words pouring from her pen,
but the winds of madness began to blow...once more,
so with pockets of stones she made her way
to the Ouse, which strangled her life away.