( angela's quiet. maybe she isn't going to recite it. maybe she shouldn't—but she does, voice soft and gentle like a nighttime breeze. )

"Wishing not to have
so much as a speck of shame
toward heaven until the day I die,
I suffered, even when the wind stirred the leaves.
With my heart singing to the stars,
I shall love all things that are dying.
And I must walk the road
that has been given to me.
Tonight, again, the stars are
brushed by the wind."

( ... )

That's all.