The pathetic woman,
Miserable than a clumsy man,
A widow far as I can reckon,
To her goodness never beckon,
She's without ecstasy,
Her dream turn out to be mere fantasy,
She lost her honor,
Overwhelmed with dolor.

So she seeks several sources and Lords with her heart,
She knew them not, never! Not on earth,
They made her believe all was necessary,
With lots of loads to carry.

She became a congregation,
Sitting helplessly without motion,
As she sobs and sobs with all her mind,
And cry and cry with all the ability she could find.

The church re-echo her petition,
Like a church favorite hymn,
All this seem like a kind of mimickery,
A real hymn,
Her blessings with a lot of imagery.

When my feet moved toward her,
She looks around from her chair,
She must be a widow,
And I was her husband’s shadow,
She seems barren,
Alas! Her son were caged like n hen,

Her husband alleged of treason,
And killed for that reason,
She now left with a hope,
He wish he could at least whisper “cheer up”
She needs a refined hope,
As she will one day drink from my cup.