My life is cold, and dark, and dreary
It rains, and the wind is never weary
My thoughts still cling to the moldering past
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast
And the days are dark and dreary.
She sat on the edge of a cliff overlooking the beach, her thoughts on the words she'd written at the beginning of her note as she stared at the waves. They summed up the last seven months of her life, so it made sense to her to leave them as an explanation.