In the mirror, she tried to imitate a queen,
The dolor cannot stop her duty on her face and hair.
That coarse, dry, rhytmic dryer was her night routine, And her creep carried the burden on each steps of stairs;
Kisses marked at midnight for her little, sleeping Jean.
Somber wind, the rattling sounds of car in wet streets,
Fusing ambient colors with the yellow headlights. She thought the comfort was too replete,
But every night was courage for her to fight,
To change her life, to change her little girl’s sheet.
Of many idle cars that afflicted her body,
And bills she tucked in her bygone, small wallet.
She hoped the last hand would stop her from dogsbodying,
But in her heart, she was certain the command was a ballet.
So, she lay and paid back what she embodied.
The final perfomance of night was filled with reminiscence;
The laugh, the innocence of a sleeping girl.
An anchor in vibrant morning and daunting night,
A medicine balancing the cost of her exhaustion.
Thus, she returned in her kingdom to met her little princess.