She came with hope, eyes full of dreams,  
For her girl’s bright future, or so it seems.  
The weight of the world on her weary heart,  
Seeking help where she could, doing her part.

The first time, a hand was given,  
To lift her from the dark she was driven.  
The second time, the heartstrings pulled,  
In a world where kindness should never be dulled.

But now, the third time she stands before,  
And you can’t offer what you did before.  
Your own struggles, your own despair,  
Leave you feeling helpless, it’s so unfair.

You see the pain in her tear-stained eyes,  
The desperation, the silent cries.  
She’s knocked on doors, begged and pleaded,  
But at each one, her hopes receded.

Rejected, ignored, turned away,  
Still, she rises, day by day.  
Her girl’s future, a distant star,  
Yet a mother’s love travels far.

You wish you could do more, give again,  
But your hands are tied, you feel the strain.  
Yet know this truth, hold it close,  
Your compassion is a gift, the most.

For sometimes, it’s not the help you give,  
But the understanding, the will to live.  
To feel her pain, to share her plight,  
Is to stand with her in this fight.

So don’t feel useless, don’t feel small,  
You’ve done your part, you’ve answered the call.  
And though you can’t help as before,  
Your empathy, your care—mean so much more.