Everything shines in the purest snow
As the tress sway to and fro.

A blemish on this world of white
Is the woman that walks through the night.

This self-satisfied mourning woman who,
Cries and cries until she’s blue.

Feeling incomplete, when the shoes on her feet
Are the newest brand to protect from the snow covered streets.

What makes this being journey in the dark,
To never see the sun or a singing lark?

Alas it was her appearance that kept her in hiding,
Only out at night, running around crying.

She thought she was hideous, beyond repair
Though when others looked upon her they said she was beyond compare.

The monstrous feature was deep down inside,
Guilt was the scar she wished she could hide.

Some around her were sympathetic,
While this woman was apathetic
To all that share a tear;
Those tears she never hears.

Wishing to be wide of girth,
As a woman should be before giving birth
To a child of her own.

Somehow she is alone.

There were several complications,
Arguments and confrontations.

She knew the doctors were at fault,
Crying against the doors of the cemetery vault
Where a part of her life was resting.

Her so called friends merely suggesting
A trip to New York or Las Vegas
Before her youth vanished in ages.

Ignoring their simple-minded suggestions and pleas,
She carried on with her crying creeds.

Having enough of her mourning sovereignty,
They all bought her a present; one ticket to Sin City.