There perhaps goes the death knell
She does not know, she can never smell
The last scratch of shoe fades away
There she stands- never can she sway
She can neither see, by choice, we suppose
She’s happier that way, says the muse
We wonder aloud, which way does the balance tilt?
Neither, many scream, those who hold her by the hilt.
Doesn’t she ever let a sigh, can we never see her cry?
Silence is her glory, acceptance we never pry
There she stands when all leaves
True as a woman bearing all deeds
When the heavy doors close on her
When the black coats stop strangling her
She perhaps screams with all her heart’s desire
And yet she walks, yet she stalks
She is the mother trying hard to defend her flock.