On a lonely hill
Beneath the stars
The skirl of a haunting piece
Playing in the distance
As the winds swept her hair
From the furrowed brow
The past haunting her
Even today
As the chosen pass by
In the distance
And she thinks
Of the difficulty
Of being a rock
In today's world
People judge
So harshly
Those results
They have no right
To judge
Until they have climbed
The same stairs
She has
And stand accused
Of a wrong undeserved.

9-10-03
Laura R