By Mila Filippova

She would sit on the roof,

wait for a sliver of proof.

Setting down a vase of flowers,

She knew they would sit for hours.

A tired man will come,

Looking at her with his face numb.

Putting a Hydrangea in,

He would then begin.

Telling the troubles of his world,

His secrets live in the Underworld.

So she swore on her heart,

It shall be pierced by a dart.

Once the man had left,

She knew he commited theft.

Knowing the troubles of society,

That lay below quietly.

Having people come in day and night,

The light in her eyes would dim ever so slight.

To society she wasn’t a human being,

Her mentality was slowly fleeing.

Her troubles went unheard,

She thought as her vision blurred.

Nobody would listen to this maiden,

Her thoughts would fade in.

This life is of a miserable one, she decided,

The strained smile went lopsided.

She guided her feet to the rail,

Her normal body felt so thin and frail.

Pulling a Hydrangea out,

She couldn’t hear his shout.

Letting her thin and frail body go free,

The silence of an old plea.

Let this maiden’s wings soar above,

This was her only way of self-love.

Father tells us this story many times,

To make sure we think about our mother sometimes.

Let me pray to the gods in the sky,

May she be happy in the soft clouds so high.