Scribbled on paper I read her words,
They spoke of pain and flying birds.
They whispered sonnets of hurt and pain,
She kept hidden those scars and stains.
They let me peek into the soul of hers,
Showed me how deeply pain in the heart stirs.
Those simple words set in poetry tell me,
How in those smiles, no aches and woes one can see.
Those moments of laughter she joins in
Are just little breathers in the chaos and din.
Unbeknownst she handed me an unshared secret, a little piece of her ,
And that little fragment shows she’s a woman of substance and honor.