Who is she


Sometimes I wonder who is she.
Who brought life to this withering tree.
Sometimes i think i know her.
Sometimes i wish i really did.

There’s a story that flashes in her eyes.
To see smile on her lips, i could pay any price.
But she just smiles and walk away.
Hold her tears and pretend to be okay.

The skin is smoother than silk and heart is made of GOLD.
In the depth of time lies a story never heard and never told.
Her problem is she cares what others have to say
Moulding herself as if she were a doll made up of clay.


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