She is flat against the forlorn floor,
Her dead eye caps emanate drops no more,
Her hands are like drooping dandelions,
Their only abilities, to moan and drone.
She opens her mouth with courage to fight
Yet the swollen glands are like a knot, tight.
Not one tick or thud has been heard till now.
And her sight is piteous, not faintly malicious.
My heart soundly aches for her,
She’s astray, wants to conquer but needs a spur.
So I stretch a tender hand to sooth her back
But there’s just air, me and a shiny blur…4
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