Monday, January 12, 2009
The Maid
Sleeping for times fading with age
She constantly faces a lady's rage.
Yet now, this grew with each passing page
Of the journal of a boy.
She gave up her prime
A whole years, seventeen in time.
Yet, without being paid a dime
For the growth of a boy.
In the ghastly hours she'll wake
Matters of the house, singlehandedly take
Yet, that peace of mind, they'll never make -
The family of a boy.
Lately she cleaned up the battlefields stained with blood
Kin on kin, the sword of tongue never in the scabbard
As the remains of the family fall together into the mud,
With the tears of a boy.
Someone gave up her life to look after me, yet she goes through the same suffering, perhaps even more than I do. I'm sorry...
Results stuff tomorrow... this has drained me.
