I've learned of life this bitter truth/ Hope not between the crumbling walls Of mankind's gratitude to find repose,/ But rather,/ Build within thy own soul/ Fortresses!

Rise with the hour for which you were made.

The heart of a woman falls back with the night,/ And enters some alien cage in its plight,/ And tries to forget it has dreamed of the stars,/ While it breaks, breaks, breaks on the sheltering bars.

And who shall separate the dust
What later we shall be:
Whose keen discerning eye will scan
And solve the mystery?

The high, the low, the rich, the poor,
The black, the white, the red,
And all the chromatique between,
Of whom shall it be said:

Here are the sons of Africa;
Here lies the dust of Rome;
Here lies the one unlabeled,
The world at large his home!

Can one then separate the dust?
Will mankind lie apart,
When life has settled back again
The same as from the start?

I battered the cordons around me/ And cradled my wings on the breeze,/ Then soared to the uttermost reaches/ With rapture, with power, with ease!

So there's a glimmer of hope that if it settles down, she might be able to play because this tiny crack is so forward.