She sits inside her shanty house
Staring out her window
Darkness falls across the sky
Like death across her face

She does not know her name or care
She does not feel dispair
Her troubles have been chased away
But lurk if return she dares

The spikes are driven deep in wood
The package tightly sealed
If she could she would escape
Her mind floats in white fields

Blood blossoms through the silvered stem
No need to be concerned
The twisted rules of life lie still
Like her, will soon be burned

The gift of life was hers by right
It will not be returned
She will slip away in silent night
Her ashes in an urn

Waiting for the company
Of the next to take their turn