Sometimes I ponder and I wonder why
A woman who's blessed tears up to cry
And then I remember her eyes so gentle
Feeling so deeply she loves not a little

Her life is a beautiful poem
Her heart is intricately woven
Her God-given life a sacrifice of love;
Her soul made of beauty given from above

Remember her tear; needed; 'tis true
It's a privilege if shared with you
Her sorrows are all yours now, as are her joys
Her heart is in your hands, your love it employs

To The Male Half Of The World's Youth
From The Females

Hi, everyone. I haven't been on here in a while. I have been flooded with story ideas but so no one can steal it I haven't been posting much. But as always, I am indecisive and need your help.

I met the dark steps that lead to the living room, which wasn’t appealing but it was better than sleeping in the same room with my cousin, Allison, who snores.
I walked down the creaking stairs and to the living room and sat down on the couch. I fluffed up the feather pillow in my hand and laid down covering myself with a cashmere blanket.
As I laid there half a sleep I remembered my live before my parent’s died.
We resigned in a huge house in a gated neighborhood called Oak Fall’s in New York City.