she speaks to children in a hushed tone
she doesn't let them hear her moan
about how life is gracious, except not to she
the troubles in life don't let her be
children are dancing with glee
they call out to nanny, twas she
the only lady left to care
about orphans in dangerous air
left in a small complex
in Beijing's polluted mess
she struggles to smile
at the children, the could-haves
the charming, the would-bes
and she slides down a little further
and gets a little dirtier
she wonders if she'd ever be the same
with these children gone
their cheerful spirits still hang around
haunting her, sticking to their nanny's side
and she breathes a little heavier,
knowing it won't be so alright
living on her own after all
YOU ARE READING
What's Wrong
Poetrysome of these might not make sense but trust me neither does my mind
