Through the sudden mist of fiery eyes
and the most enticing tresses,
of grey, black and white
pressing against her head.
A pear, so pale and dilapidated;
with a stick grabbed to support that gait.

She’s covered in white, or any shade
that explains her weary state
Vanity or verve, she has none,
for all the opposition she has faced.

A little crack on her lips
with uneasiness and much force,
for she has lived all her life,
devoted to petty chores.

An ode to her should be sublime,
One that exalts her to the stars.
Yet, none could i offer, but a mirthless stare
Once her body was laid-down, bare
for mother earth,
to consume and inhume,
As i watched with unspoken guilt.