I don't know her name but I can see her face, A women so strong, such a steady base,
Her eyes speak out, lonely and sad, Never once feeling hatred, never mad,
Her hair is short, hanging over her eyes, looking strange and creepy. I ask you, don't despise.
This little old lady, secrely calling for love, wanting to soar, and fly like a dove.
Her emotions stay trapped, locked down and shut up, At age thirteen her mama drank after each cup.
She grew older, Becoming a "Mrs." but soon only loosing, her husband's kisses,
He died of a very rare cancer, and nobody seemed to have the right answer.
Crying and wheaping, never once sleeping, Alone and alone, thats how she grew old.
Her story, seemed to never be truely told.