Wednesday, February 6, 2008


The grinding years, she swallows like some furious beast,
Others tremble, in sorrow, but everything she’ll bear, no tears.

Like a rebel, across the miles, against all riveting odds,
Death at hand, unbowed till the end, she's all too proud.

Rains bring harsh memories of dying embers, still she goes,
unafraid, like an angry wind, she leaps, so strong and alone!

Like a wandering child, unsung yet unperturbed, till the end,
against those armies, she flees not, she cries, no, never!