She sits underneath the trees, tears trickling down her face

The swans of pure swim in the water before her

Heaven's doves fly above her head

Her tears fall into the lake of grace

A section of the lake turns into a deep sapphire instead of its usual crystal blue

The result of grace mixed with sorrow

Oh, how she wants to be one of the swans of purity

Or one of the heavenly doves

But all she will ever be is an ugly grey duckling