An old poem, that finally wrote itself

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To set the stage, I wrote the first two lines to this poem in 2013, but could never finish it. Well I wrote the third and fourth lines last night, and the rest this AM. It's a bit sad, but lovely I think. In the lull before the storm In the pause before the battle When deed goes from thought to form, that's when She walks where She will. Hand trailing behind her, memory flying free, of the things that needed reminding, before it's too late for you or me, as life devours on and hope is lost. I could see it all, trailing behind her, the love and compassion that was needed most, and joy and remembrance flying assured, that was pulled from minds that She passed by. Her face obscured but for a moment's flash, I saw eyes like mist and moon, tears were dripping down her cheeks with a splash, to fall a tunic wet with pain and dew. I found myself crying without knowing why, for her pain, for her tears, for the sadness in her eyes, for the hope that She left or the call that I, would turn and follow in her wake.