She goes out of her way to make everyone happy.
She cares enough for all but not all to herself.
A magical comfy assurance comes from her touch,
Yet she abhors any touch of reassurance
Embracing total self-denial.
Worries instead of blood flow freely in her veins.
So heavy trying to lift the shoes of her pains.
How do I reach out to her with a succor cup?
Will it quench her scourging thirst?
What amount of comfort would soothe her?
Are there not enough balms to relieve her seething pains?
Her biological clock is so frail
Yet so much will happen in her little time.
I wonder how she ever manage to always pull through
Evoking smiles that suppress underlaid pains.
In anyway, I’m sure I will find a way.