She does not own a fighter's body

But you can tell right from the start

That the thing they have in common

Is...she has a fighter's heart

For as long as I have known  her

A scrapper she has been

A lioness well challenged

She is cunning, though not mean

Her battle is internal

Her trophy is her life

Her body's full of cancer

She's tap dancing on a knife

She won't back down from any fight

Not this one...that's for sure

She determined like a fighter

She wants this fight...and one more

It's a battle for survival

She's as tough as old Ali

Her battle cry is awesome

"You will not be taking me"

I write this for my mother

The toughest woman that I know

And regardless of her cancer

Her pain...she'll never show.

The Boxer stands alone tonight.
There are no crowds to cheer him on.
There are no opportunities to pass him by.

The Boxer stands alone tonight.
His head is bowed, no longer strong.
His heart no longer knows what's right.

The Boxer stands alone tonight.
He can't remember for how long.
He can't remember what it felt like

to live
       carry on
                  to be strong
                                    to fight.

The Boxer stands alone tonight.
There is no one here to hear him cry,
alone in the ring, as baroque music flies
through the air; through his soul,
and at last lets him sleep.

There is not a soul left there that cares to cheer him on;
When he passes, there is no one left that deigns to weep.