The woman walked slowly,
Her years spent,
Weighing on her back, bent
As an aged oak
After a century of storms and winds,
Pushing her down
To face a ground
That had carried her through the chaos
Of a life of toil and loss.
Slowly she moves, steady in pride…
Steadied by the love carried
In victory through wars,
And loves lost to time and cares’
Burdens and bodily frailties.
Like the oak, similarities
Show in a soul strengthened
By deep roots of a passion
For honor and family.
The lady with the bent back
Slowly, yet surely strides ahead.
A lace shawl draped over her head,
Hanging loosely over the crown
Of her years of weathering life,
With the grace of love given
And received, but never taken;
With each step she straightens
To stretch and view heaven.
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