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Things are not well for her
her mother is at deaths door
her son is at the prisons door
her daughter is in her grave
and her man suddenly demands romance—at 64

Times are not well for her
The strain is in her eyes
there is plastic in her once genuine smile
a smile she forces to show the world

More than ever, too, there is a redness,
tears and a strain in her longing,
this very real but silent longing
to see a glimmering of hope,
a coming of some sunshine, Son shine please,
relief, peace, please.

She longs for romance, too, if the price isn’t to high
romance, the healing salve to cool the heat of a wounded heart