She sits in her chair and gives you a stare.
Her throne is on her kitchen chair.
She demands respect wherever she goes.
Her nose is up in the air.
Her tongue is so sharp like a bees sting.
Her blood is so cold like a corpse in a morgue.
Her heart beats for no one but to it\'s own tune.
She\'s turning 90 and her hair finally turned grey.
Respect is earned but what a shame, she still plays the same old game.
She lives in a world where she holds the key, never to be unlocked
cold, unfeeling and the master of lies.
Respect was not earned by you,
So keep your key and lock the door and don\'t open it anymore.
Michele Kalish I wrote this November 25,2017