Gwyneth
Her parents named her Gwyneth
Among her sisters, she was the seventh
She is too old now to hold her breath
But she still wants out of the hospice bed
Her sunken eyes have seen it all
No one visits with her
Barely the nurse and the doctor on call
Curved like an arch set in stone
Too weak to carry her frail bones
60 years working hard all her life
Trying her best to be a good wife
I see her coming down the Ave
And there's not a helping hand to be had
Because everyone is
too busy on their phones
We all know the rich die
in the comfort of their homes
Surrounded by their loved ones
While she will do it all alone