Her soft brown eyes,
underlined with bags.
Supple and soft are her lips
wrinkling at the corners
from all the smirks and sighs.

She’s young, short of nothing less than beautiful
She’s my cousin, my sister, my aunt, and my mother.
She’s tired and she's weary
She’s facing a new world that's so cold.

How does she do it? I ask, as she bears the pain,
of losing one life,
and handling the frustration
of the new for two.

Taking a most determined stand,
alone --- can't call her house a home.
Her resolution fascinates me,
facing it all in spite of him.

Time keeps passin' on
and the pockets need to be gettin' deeper
in order to keep that life growing,
even though her own stands still.

The meeting of new faces and places
is all but a memory now.
Nothing will ever be the same.
Did the youth pass in vain?

But she is strong
and on her two feet only
her love tells her
that she’ll go on.

Dedication...
to that life born anew.
Most would agree,
that respect is due.