Bruises filled her arms, of a violet color.

She traced the laced fabric, wishing,

hoping, praying, that life was not set in stone for her.

She paints a lily with watercolor.

admiring the flower.

She counts each sand-dollar.

Wishing, praying, hoping, life was not set in stone for her.

Death she was sure it would come.

To be buried with amongst the lilies.

With violet arms no more.

And with all the sand-dollars she could count

more.