Her brow is furrowed, with deep lines of worry
Anxiety has etched them making her ugly.
In photos of yore we see her face, dark grave and troubled
She, now not recalling, why then she was so worried.
 
Piled high are the world’s problems in her mind;
She has always been that way inclined.
She said her neighbour hadn’t smiled at her again today.
Was it something she had said or not done yesterday?
 
This tortured soul is smothered in suffocating gloom;
Her personality unable to grow and bloom.
Humour may help, to heal this depression;
She is not alone, but feels alone, with this disabling affliction.
 
It’s horrible to witness the pain of her suffering
And I am inept to vanquish her anguish.
As she cringes, fearful of tomorrows clouds gathering
She has no desire to sing, in today’s glorious sunshine.