Red hair once sweeping; uninterrupted,
Pale skin, glowing; quickly turned ashen; corrupted,
By cancer; disease erupted,
Throughout, what was, a beautiful woman, disrupted.
A lone woman; considered a prude,
Unprotected in her prime; a victim of crime.
The offenders flew in; took all her gold,
And left her in a dungeon.
Body builder to wheel chair bound –
Her sisters laughed; at the bag of bones – she became.
Devotion to God, she hoped, would send a miracle –
Indeed, Archangel Michael appeared.
Left destitute and sick; he stroked her lifeless hands,
Combed her clumps of red,
Gave peace to her eroding bones;
Promising to commemorate her with glory.
That night serenity took over, her mild manner;
Her soul left; behind an amphitheater,
Leaving the only two that truly knew her; in danger,
Of trusting any other strangers.
– L.J. Lenehan –