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Siiting on the rich carpet

With sadness struck,

I think

What could be worse.

My problems seem

As though they can't be solved,

And sometimes I want to give in.

Then suddenly like

A train of ice wind in the summer,

Reality hits

And my pain is all of nothing

As I think of her

In the crudeness of her woodscrap house,

With a life of regret on her shoulders

Weighing her down with another child?

 

 

 

In the cold winter her lips wikl prple and crack

While mine will stay pretty and plaum

Because she has not the money to buy

The chapstick that sits easily besude me.