A day would pass then would never smile,
Was it then her heart did beat too fast,
Then knew the sanctum in which she stood,
The pillar how gay was once she knew,
As though the clouds brought her thus to fall,
In sync with all is but none too small,
Reader, no angel she was but better folk,
She’ll give her arms in chains for bitter foe,
Grieves in hearth is she in respite but woe,
A lasting sigh succumb to fickle hopes she throw,
At once she stops her fight to endless treat,
Walks down the road her name carved in ice,
A sun no warmer would never thaw her name,
A simple smile is all she needed to breathe again,
Each muscle effecting a rise and fall of soul,
This day she saw was at once endowed again,
Steps too few are but words too great,
Though home become is but hearth bestowed,
Long to draw, but shy to speak;
Though little her chance is smile come tell,
Her daughter inherits true and asks her:
How do I get people to like me, Mum?
And hence, her Mother said: just smile.

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Life, Poetry, Works
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