In a village nestled between stream and hill, Where the wind sings softly and life is still, Lived a girl with eyes like the dawn, Dreaming of stages and curtains drawn.

Her voice, a melody, pure and true, In the quiet nights, through the fog it flew. To sing on the stage was her heart's only plea, A star in the opera, for the world to see.

But whispers of doubt from the ones she held dear, Turned her song to silence, her dream to fear. "A simple girl, with stars in her eyes, Cannot grasp the moon, or touch the skies."

So, she sang no more, her dream locked away, In the fields she toiled, day by day. Her once bright eyes grew dim with tears, Her music drowned in the passing years.

Yet, in the stillness of the night, a melody rose, A song of what was lost, of self-imposed woes. The villagers heard, in the soft night's embrace, The ghost of a dream, in her haunting grace.

Years passed on, and she grew old, Her story among the stars, untold. But on windy nights, her voice still soars, A reminder of dreams, of open doors.