YET, ONCE MORE
The mother-weak- lays on the bed,
and still complains of the life she led:
yet, her grave is not too far.
The daughter- depressed-now bears her own,
and still complains of what\'s been sown,
yet, she faces the same fate.
The poison has consumed that frost,
leaving it burnt and charred:
After years, the ice is still lost.
The frost has summoned a storm,
leaving it dark and bitter:
After years, the storm is still torn.
O toxic storm, O melted frost:
you both were destined to be lost.
For you both did one a-doll;
mother and daughter after all.