Her name was just a broken sound
Hidden in a crack of the house walls.
At night she comes out and bows to the ground
For she is far yet too proud to crawl.

Too vain to ask for help,
She struggles to collect
Her proud of the floor
As if she was never famous or poor.

In her garden,
With all the dead plants and
Old dirty cats,
She feels like the ocean’s mermaid.