Feeble wrinkled fingers,
cross to fold hands.
Praying to be set free.

Should I take a knife
to my very soul,
and let them see,
what they've done to me!

In my memory,
she still stands,
our children at hand.

Now I am a maan without
their little hands.
Dead and waiting for death,
to take my hand.

Mother where were you,
when I was a child?
Here then gone,
like some wind,
lost to the wilds.

I am lost ,
to these same winds!
When will it end?
Will I ever be able to begin again?

I've fallen prey
to stranger ways.
I've been left to death,
for the rest of my days.