Her oxfords stride, one after the other.
Her tights, flowing over every small crease.
Her vintage belt, secondhand from mother.
Her navy fedora, a gift from niece.
Her wayfarers are a dark, pitch, jet black.
Her floral skirt swings with every swift turn.
Her leather watch is no longer intact.
Her old Christmas sweater she wants to burn.
Her burgundy cardigan that she loves.
Her chiffon flower headband, oh so pink.
Her pearl white dress, inspired by doves.
Her diamond earrings don't make her a dink.
But even her clothes can't hide her true self.
'Cause inside she's crying, even with wealth.